


Detention with Destiny

by leopion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Compliancy: HBP, Detention, F/M, Forced Partnership, Head Boy/Head Girl, Magical Items, Mystery, Psychological Trauma, Strong Profanity, Suspense, War, Year 7, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-13
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-26 00:23:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leopion/pseuds/leopion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Head Boy and Girl’s failure to cooperate leads to severe consequences, they end up in a detention with the Headmaster himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wake_The_Dragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wake_The_Dragon/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.
> 
> This story was originally written for the tenth DMHG Fic Exchange: Darkest before the Dawn. I am revising it before archiving, but the revision mostly concerns with wording and clarity. The plot and events are essentially the same.
> 
> I want to thank my three wonderful betas, dormiensa, Cortana Bennet, and mccargi. I can’t possibly list all the amazing stuffs that you’ve done for me, but I must say that I’m so lucky to have you guys.
> 
> Another thank you goes to silviaelisa, who has constantly kept me sane with her mostly non-related emails and tweets.
> 
> I also want to thank Still Not King (aka Wake_The_Dragon) for the great prompt and thank the mods at dmhgficexchange for being awesomely understanding throughout my creation of this story.
> 
> Last but not least, a big thank you to all of my reviewers at the exchange for the valuable feedback for me to improve the story further and the wondermous encouragement (that has prompted me to start with a sequel :D).
> 
> Since this is already complete, I will try to update as often as I can There are 6 parts, and the sequel will be around soonish, I hope.  
>  **Original request:**  
>  Would you prefer an art or fic gift? Fic.  
> Preferred rating: Pg-13  
> Describe what you'd like in as few words/keywords as possible: Draco and Hermione are forced to spend time together to learn to get along as Head Boy and Girl.  
> Optional: Song, Poem, or Quote (title/original creator): N/A.  
> Dealbreakers (absolute no-no's): Non-con, dub-con, abusive behavior  
> 

Hermione shifted her weight uncomfortably, her eyes riveted on the crisp white curtain of the hospital wing. She had been standing here long enough for her legs to start feeling stiff, yet her heart was still hammering like it did when she’d just raced back from the Hufflepuff Basement. She knew it was more due to the worry than anything else.

Hermione would never forgive herself or Malfoy if the first-year Hufflepuff suffered any lasting impairment to his leg. Despite her faith in Madam Pomfrey’s expert skills, she knew for a fact that even magic couldn’t fully repair the damage once an injury had been left untreated for too long. And it was all their fault. The Prefects should have patrolled through the third floor corridor twice that evening and discovered the poor boy three hours before she did. If only they hadn’t messed it up. Hermione shuddered at the thought of what would have happened had she not decided to use that particular shortcut on her way back from the library.

As though sensing Hermione’s intense gaze, Madam Pomfrey popped her head out from behind the curtain a few minutes later.

‘How is he?’ asked Hermione at once.

‘He still needs a few more stitches, but I’m afraid there is nothing else for you to do here, Miss Granger. Professor McGonagall said she wanted you to wait in the Prefects’ Office with Mr Malfoy.’

The nurse wasted no time in retreating after her mini-speech, and Hermione let out a weary sigh before heaving her book bag onto her shoulder. The vacant bed that it had previously occupied gave a loud creak as the heavy weight was lifted. Earlier that evening, Hermione had stuffed her bag with every library book she could find on Albania. She’d intended to thoroughly explore the magical aspect of the country when she got back to her dormitory. Now, however, she doubted that she would feel like browsing them anytime soon, regardless of their importance to the Horcrux hunt.

After exploiting all the direct evidence about Voldemort’s past, Dumbledore finally had to resort to a more circuitous method: tracing Quirrell’s path to find out where he had met the disembodied Voldemort. It made sense that the place where his fragment of soul had been lurking would hold some kind of significance to him. As it was, Dumbledore had left the castle in search of another Horcrux in the aforementioned country.

Meanwhile, Malfoy and Hermione, as Head Boy and Girl, were as much responsible as the remainder of the staff for the safety of Hogwarts students, yet she had failed in every possible way. The first two weeks of the term had been bad enough, but what happened tonight was the final straw. This time someone was actually hurt, and severely at that. Even though they were not to be blamed for the first-year’s own carelessness that had led him to catch his leg in the old trap door, it was the Prefects’ duty to discover and help in such emergencies. However, there had been no Prefects patrolling the castle tonight, and Hermione had not found out about the problem until it was almost too late to provide a remedy, if temporary, for it. After her trips to two of the common rooms, she had confirmed that the schedule had been changed— _by the Head Boy_. And while the original pair had been alerted that they wouldn’t be on duty tonight, their replacement knew nothing about the schedule adjustment.

Hermione made her way to the office with a renewed anger at the Head Boy. She had never been able to fathom the reasons behind Dumbledore’s selection. Granted, she could understand why Dumbledore didn’t want to burden Harry, but it wasn’t as if Malfoy was the only other candidate. Furthermore, the only quality that could have commended him above the others—academic aptitude—had been rendered moot by his plummeting grades in the prior year. However, Hermione’s biggest problem with Dumbledore’s decision was her belief that they couldn’t place their trust in Malfoy. Well, technically speaking, he was on their side now, though it was more to save his own skin than a real change of heart. For all they knew, it could have merely been Voldemort’s plot to infiltrate the Order.

All the same, there were moments when she reflected on what Harry had told her—about Malfoy’s outburst in the bathroom, about his revelation to Dumbledore on Hogwarts’ topmost tower—and wondered if anyone would ever want to go back to that life. Then again, how could she tell? Did she really know him at all?

Tonight, though, no amount of reasoning could possibly justify Malfoy’s irresponsibility. Hermione almost exploded when she reached the office and found him lounging nonchalantly on the couch, a volume of _The Modern Alchemist_ in his hand.

'You changed the schedule without asking me?' she growled.

Malfoy didn’t even look up at her. 'Why must I ask you?’ he drawled. ‘The last time I checked, the Head Boy does not have to ask the Head Girl's permission for anything. That schedule of yours was nonsensical, so I changed it. As simple as that.'

'Why didn't you just say so from the beginning?'

‘I merely saved you the humiliation, Granger.’ He closed the journal with a snap and sneered at her. ‘Did you want me to point it out in front of all the Prefects? That for some obscure reason you strove to accompany me during every single patrol?'

Hermione’s next retort died on her lips. Malfoy had hit so close to home that she could see no way to deny it. True, she had been aware of the shortcomings in her schedule from the start. It was precisely due to the fact that she didn’t trust Malfoy that she had to make sure she could keep an eye on him while he did his patrol. This, however, was quite tricky, considering the crammed agenda Hermione had already had. Finding a night when both she and Malfoy were free was a Herculean task in itself. Then, it was nearly impossible trying to fit everyone else's schedules into the remaining nights.

‘Kneazle got your tongue, Granger?’

‘That is not the point,’ she said weakly. ‘You should have made sure that the new information reached all concerned parties, including me. Look what happened! Anthony could have died of blood loss. If I hadn't—'

‘So, now, it’s all thanks to you that he’s fine, isn’t it? The bloody Gryffindor heroine has saved the day yet again.’

'You know very well that's not what I meant, Malfoy!’ exclaimed Hermione, her anger flaring up so fiercely that she began to pace back and forth in front of the currently Malfoy-occupied couch. ‘My point is, if _someone_ had not passed that corridor and discovered the boy, it would have been a tragedy. And you should know that except for the Prefects who are required to patrol through the area, people hardly go there. You know what, I am sick of this. I’ll go to Dumbledore and ask him to revoke your title.'

'Do as you wish. It’s not like I can stand being around you much longer, anyway.’

'You're not taking this responsibility seriously, are you?'

'Says the one who drew up the crappiest schedule in Hogwarts’ history.'

'I'm not kidding, Malfoy. Is this just some kind of game to you? At times like this, everyone has to be extra careful. It can be a matter of life or death. What if the Death Eaters manage to break into the school again?’

‘They won’t,’ said Malfoy with a voice so quiet it made Hermione stop her pacing and turn back to look at him. Her eyes widened, and even though Hermione knew she was trespassing on danger zone, the words came out of her mouth like a raging torrent.

‘Oh, it must have slipped my mind. It was _you_ who let them in last time. Perhaps you deliberately left the corridors deserted to welcome those lovely Death Eater friends of yo—'

Hermione didn’t have a chance to finish her sentence as Malfoy grabbed her wrist and nearly made her tumble. He pinned her down to the couch, level with him, their faces so close that she could feel the heat radiating from his silent rage. The corner of his mouth twitched as though he was suppressing the urge to shout at her.

‘Malfoy, let me go!’ She attempted to wriggle her hand out of his grip only to get herself stuck in an even more awkwardly contorted position. Just a small jerk on the wrist, and Malfoy was able to bring them face-to-face again. In that tiny fraction of time, his face had turned expressionless.

'Don't. Ever. Say. That. Again,' he spat, gripping her hand so tightly that Hermione could barely feel it. His eyes were cold as steel as they pierced into her brown ones, immobilizing her even more effectively than his hand on her wrist.

Time seemed to stand still until the door creaked open, sending Hermione jumping back from Malfoy. Thankfully, he also let go of her wrist at that moment. When Hermione looked up at their guest, however, McGonagall’s disapproving expression told her that the professor had seen enough to deduce that they had been fighting again.

‘Professor McGonagall, I—’ began Hermione, but McGonagall held up a hand to silence her. ‘Save your explanation, Miss Granger. The Headmaster came back shortly after the accident tonight and has been alerted of the situation. He wants both of you to report to him tomorrow evening for detention.’

Hermione blanched. Even when lecturing Malfoy about the seriousness of the situation, she had never thought of such an outcome.

‘Although it’s not really my responsibility now, I must say that I am deeply disappointed by the two of you, especially you Miss Granger,’ continued the professor. ‘I hope Professor Dumbledore will be able to convince you to co-operate with each other. Remember that it’s tomorrow evening at seven in the Headmaster’s office. The new password is Snickers. Goodnight!’

***

Draco wearily sat down in his usual isolated spot in the Great Hall and began to ladle food onto his plate without so much as glancing at its contents. Today, the seat seemed hardly secluded enough for his ears and rotten mood. Apparently, despite a brief period of utter silence when he first entered the room, most people had decided that avoiding the incurrence of Draco Malfoy’s wrath was not worth keeping their mouths shut.

Since the previous night’s incident, Hogwarts’ gossipers had wasted no time spreading the news far and wide. By the time the evening feast commenced, concerns regarding the idiotic Hufflepuff were completely drowned out by the more interesting topic of the Head Boy and Head Girl’s detention with the Headmaster. There had been no precedent for such a detention, with all three ‘Heads’ being involved. Many people, including Granger, no doubt, considered it a disgrace. However, some were still ‘kind’ enough to point out a so-called consolation on Draco’s part: Potter’s father had already championed as the first Head Boy who got detentions during his own term.

Draco couldn’t care less about the school population’s opinion of him. If he did, he would probably have had to suffer raging fits every minute of every day. This evening, however, things started to get on Draco’s nerves as the discussion moved to all sorts of speculations about the kind of task Dumbledore was going to set for him and Granger. The guesses ranged from copying the school records by hand to taming an ‘insanely wild Hippogriff’. While Draco scoffed at the latter for its ridiculousness, his gut told him that it would probably be something far worse. The thought made the piece of steak in his mouth taste like sawdust.

‘Finally getting cross now, are we?’ asked Blaise casually as he settled down in the seat next to Draco. ‘I thought you didn’t care about other people’s opinions.’

Draco groaned, and for once, was forced to acknowledge that he missed the unintelligent but _silent_ company of Crabbe and Goyle. Well, at least they had enough brain cells to realise that there was no point in serving a jerk who had fallen out of the Dark Lord’s good graces. Sadly enough, the people who didn’t give a damn about Voldemort’s ranks tended to see annoying-the-hell-out-of-Draco-Malfoy as a purpose in life.

‘I don’t care what people think about me. However, that doesn’t mean I will meekly sit by as they start predicting my impending doom,’ he spat back at Blaise, stabbing his barely-eaten steak with his fork. Blaise chuckled but decided to leave Draco alone. To be honest, Draco had neither expected nor desired this new ... companionship. But as it happened, when the new term started, Blaise had been the first of only two people who offered condolences to Draco regarding his mother’s ‘death’. Perhaps that was why he had felt compelled to tell the dark-haired Slytherin the truth. He felt somewhat guilty about keeping it from Pansy, but, given her father’s association with the Death Eaters, it was probably for the best.

Public knowledge had Narcissa Malfoy killed in a freak accident. For the Death Eaters, she was killed by the Order of the Phoenix. Within the Order itself, she was a hostage, effectively ensuring that Draco would not turn his back on them. And to Draco, she was—as he _had_ to believe—still alive and hiding in a safe house somewhere. Their communication had been sporadic at best and always strictly monitored by the Order of the Phoenix. Maybe that was why they had no qualms about letting him spend the holidays at their secret headquarters.

For the entire summer, Draco had tried his best to keep to himself. Potter, Weaselette, and the rest of the adults mostly ignored him. Weasley and the twins took every possible opportunity to insult him and laugh at his expense, though Draco had been above that sort of thing for a long time now.

It was Granger who drove him out of his mind. She hardly spoke to him more than necessary. Yet more than once, Draco had found her staring at him, as though wanting to penetrate his skin and examine his very soul. He was never sure what she actually saw, however, for every time he caught her eyes, they flickered to a different emotion: contempt, distrust, pity, to name a few. None of those emotions were ones that Draco enjoyed having directed at him. But on top of that, it annoyed him greatly not being able to figure out what lay behind them. Nevertheless, all in all, he had been doing just fine, thank you very much.

And then Dumbledore just had to go and send that effing letter announcing that Draco had been made Head Boy and Granger Head Girl. Potter stated that he trusted Dumbledore’s judgement, though he could tell that The Boy Who Suffers From Paranoia became much more guarded around him. Weasley got even more spiteful, which was to be expected. But again, it was Granger who got under his skin. Her vigorous study of him had become even more intense than before. And, Merlin help him, there were times when she looked like she was wondering how he had schemed to get the position. Like he would even bother trying.

Once upon a time, he used to dream of getting the title, if merely to rub it in Potter’s face, though Draco hadn’t felt anything close to pleasure by the time he actually received the news. He didn’t understand why Dumbledore had chosen him in the first place. Everything in his profile screamed ‘inappropriate for the post’. Draco Malfoy—son of Voldemort’s former right-hand man, a Death Eater himself, someone who had been known to have used Unforgivable Curses at least once, who had poisoned, delivered a cursed item, introduced Death Eaters into the school, and last but not least, had made an attempt to assassinate the Headmaster—the Head Boy of Hogwarts? Draco would have laughed if it hadn’t been the story of his own blasted life.

He had always thought this was some sort of deranged punishment that the old nutcase was inflicting on him. Whether he liked it or not, Draco had to admit it was working out perfectly. Barely two weeks into the term, he had already earned himself a bloody detention, and with the Head Girl no less. On any other occasion, he would have trembled with glee at the idea of Granger having to serve in detention. But it was difficult to find joy when one had to share in the misery.

In fact, Draco found it hard to share anything with Granger at all. He had thought that once they were back at Hogwarts and seeing less of one another, Heads’ duties notwithstanding, she would be passably bearable. However, he had been gravely mistaken. Now that they had to actually interact regularly, he had to suffer endless verbal battles on top of Granger’s ever-annoying scrutiny. What’s more, she’d also developed an obsession with them patrolling together, which in Draco’s opinion, was a condensed mixture of both of the aforementioned tortures. It had exasperated him to the point that, after two weeks, he had finally snapped and changed her previously-prepared schedule. Not that the damn thing wasn’t stupid in many other aspects. He was just trying to do his job after all, albeit not very successfully. Draco mentally congratulated himself on learning a precious lesson, one that should have been learnt years ago: do not trust first-years to deliver messages; do it yourself.

At that moment, he felt himself being inspected by a familiar set of eyes, but when Draco turned his attention to the Gryffindor table, Granger appeared to be engaged in a captivating conversation with her sausage. Throughout the day, she’d seemed to have substituted her usual ogling with occasional glances. Although Draco could have regarded this as a welcoming change, what brought about such change was not something he could be pleased with. Last night’s occurrence in the office had stirred up far too many memories, ones he wanted to remain buried. Draco’s lips curled up in a bitter smile as Granger abandoned her half-eaten sausage and proceeded to flee from the Great Hall. All the while, his eyes never left her, giving her a taste of her own medicine.

Draco turned back to his own meal, but after a few more pokes at the pitiable steak, he realised that he was fighting a losing battle with his lack of appetite. As he stood up to leave, Blaise clapped a hand on Draco’s back and offered him a goodbye in the form of a knowing smirk and a ‘Good luck with the detention, mate!’

‘Good luck, my arse,’ Draco muttered under his breath and stormed out of the Great Hall. He considered going back to the dungeons to get some peace and quiet before heading to Dumbledore’s office but promptly decided against it. The term ‘fashionably late’ had vanished from Draco’s dictionary ever since he entered the Order’s confinement. However, if he had been more honest to himself, it hadn’t been of use for long before that, although for a quite different reason.

As it happened, Draco was five minutes early when he reached the top of the spiral staircase and let himself into the Headmaster’s office. To his dismay, Granger had already arrived while Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen. Granger briefly tilted her head towards the door as Draco entered but otherwise gave no indication that she acknowledged his presence. Since she’d settled herself on the only guest seat in the room, Draco conjured another chair for himself. They waited in silence.

The next twenty minutes were pure torture to Draco, as he had to endure Granger’s constant hand-wringing and the glaring of Dumbledore’s pet. Not to mention he’d always hated this room despite having been here only twice before. Perhaps it was his distaste for the old man’s crazy knick-knacks. Perhaps it was the fact that his memories of this place were only associated with unpleasant events: first, the arrangement of his mother’s fake death and his own custody; second, the arrangement of his shared ‘honour’ with Granger; and now, a detention, once again with Granger. What kind of horrible memories could possibly top that?

By the time the door finally opened, causing Granger to almost spring up from her seat, Draco had seriously considered bursting out of the room, damned the consequences.

‘Good evening, sir.’ Granger’s voice drew him back to reality. He also stood up to greet the Headmaster, if only for the sake of keeping proper etiquette rather than genuine respect.

‘Good evening, Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy. Please forgive my lateness. The preparation for our task tonight took more time than I expected,’ said Dumbledore, seating himself behind his desk. ‘Sit down,’ he added.

‘About yesterday,’ said Granger as soon as she was seated, ‘I'm so sorry, sir. I promise we won't let it happen again.’ The word ‘we’ was uttered with a surreptitious glance at Draco, as though he would hex her for including him in the promise. He probably would have deliberated the idea had Dumbledore not been present, but given the situation, Draco chose instead to remain silent.

‘I cannot say that I am not disappointed by your performance thus far as Head Boy and Head Girl,’ responded Dumbledore with a stern expression. ‘Tonight, however, I asked you here not so much for punishment as for a favour. The detention is merely an alibi. In fact, there are very few that I can trust with what I will ask of you today.’

If Draco had happened to have a drink to his mouth, he swore that he would have spurted it out spectacularly. When someone said to the person who had spent almost an entire year plotting his demise and had nearly succeeded that he trusted him, either the man was insane or he was lying. With Dumbledore, Draco highly suspected there was a little bit of both, though he did his best to keep his face impassive. One emotional outburst was more than he’d ever wanted to share with the Headmaster, or with anyone for that matter. Especially not with Granger. Fuck, if it hadn’t been for Granger and her self-righteous I-can-do-everything-all-by-myself attitude, Draco wouldn’t have been forced to sit here, waiting to see what sort of calamity was about to befall him.

Draco tried his best to suppress the scowl that was threatening to mar his features when Granger nearly jumped up with excitement at Dumbledore’s next words, ‘Tonight, you will both accompany me in my search for one of the Horcruxes.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd really love to hear your thoughts. Next chapter will be up soon :P


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione couldn’t believe her ears. Had Professor Dumbledore really just asked her to go with him on a Horcrux hunt? She found it almost impossible to contain the excitement bubbling inside her. However, this sentiment was soon tainted by apprehension as it occurred to Hermione that the privilege was also extended towards Malfoy.

She cast a furtive glance in his direction. If Malfoy had known about Horcruxes, he didn’t show it. However, Hermione knew better than to trust appearances. After all, Malfoy had incentive to hide his knowledge, didn’t he? Otherwise, it would only serve to show how deeply he had steeped himself in the Dark Arts.

‘Miss Granger, I trust that Mr Potter has already told you about these dark artefacts?’

Hermione slowly nodded, her brain still furiously processing the situation. Had Dumbledore lost his mind? Giving Malfoy the Head Boy title was one thing, but entrusting him with such confidential information regarding the destruction of Voldemort and actually involving him in the process was simply ludicrous. At last, she chose to voice her doubt in the most discreet way possible.

‘But sir, do you truly want me and _Malfoy_ to go with you on the Horcrux hunt?’

‘If you don’t wish to—’

‘Oh no, it’s not that, sir,’ blurted Hermione before even realising that she was, in fact, interrupting the Headmaster. Blushing slightly at her own lack of manners, she apologised and added, ‘I would be honoured to join you. I was just wondering whether Harry would be a more suitable companion.’

‘As it happens, I do not want to bother Mr Potter. He has too much on his plate already. What is more, I believe that the skills and intelligence you and Mr Malfoy possess will be invaluable to our mission tonight,’ said Dumbledore gravely.

His words did little to ease Hermione’s hesitation. What skills could she and Malfoy possibly possess that Dumbledore did not already have? Had Dumbledore known all along that Malfoy possessed useful information about the Horcruxes and wanted to exploit that? Though Hermione wasn’t opposed to the idea of using Malfoy for their cause, it simply was not something Dumbledore would do. So, this couldn’t be the case. Hermione’s theory was solidified by the kind smile Dumbledore directed at Malfoy, asking if he knew what a Horcrux was.

‘No, but I may have heard of it somewhere.’ Malfoy’s answer sounded somewhat truthful.

‘Miss Granger,’ said Dumbledore, turning back to Hermione with a gentle smile, ‘would you be so kind as to explain the subject to Mr Malfoy while I make some preparations before our journey?’

‘Of course, sir,’ she replied, although unsure exactly how much information the Headmaster wanted her to disclose. It would be awkward to ask the question in front of Malfoy, though. As Dumbledore walked across the office towards his wondrous collection of tomes, she began with the most basic points and hoped that the Headmaster would stop her before she went too far.

‘A Horcrux is an object into which a wizard has hidden a part of his soul. That way even when his body is destroyed, he cannot die because part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged.’

‘And that was how the Dark Lord managed to stay alive sixteen years ago, wasn’t it?’ asked Malfoy, looking mildly interested.

Hermione nodded. She wasn’t surprised at how fast Malfoy seemed to catch on. A part of her conceded that he was actually quite smart, though another sternly reminded her that he might have known everything beforehand.

‘In order to create a Horcrux, the aforementioned wizard must commit murder as the killing would tear the soul apart.’ Hermione paused. It was not until the words had come out of her mouth that she realised how close Malfoy’s soul had come to suffering the same fate. Hermione thought she saw him flinch at her statement, though it was so brief that she could have imagined it. ‘He would then encase the torn portion into an object, making it into a Horcrux.’

Hermione stopped speaking. She was getting to an important turn. It was one thing to tell Malfoy about the concept of Horcruxes and even to let him know why Voldemort had survived, but going into details about how far the monster had gone—creating several Horcruxes—and how far Dumbledore had gone in the quest of destroying them was something entirely different. If Malfoy reported the knowledge back to Voldemort, all of their efforts would amount to nothing. On the other hand, they could still make it seem like they only knew about one Horcrux and were setting out to destroy it tonight. Hermione looked at Dumbledore, who had just returned to the desk with an enormous ledger, her eyes seeking guidance. At Dumbledore’s encouraging smile, she took a deep breath and continued, ‘Voldemort has split his soul into seven pieces.’

‘Seven?’ gasped Malfoy. ‘That means he’s made a total of—’

‘Six Horcruxes, yes,’ said Hermione. She hesitated for a second, but then Dumbledore gestured for her to go on. ‘A diary, the Gaunt’s ring, Slytherin’s locket, Hufflepuff’s cup, his snake Nagini, and finally, given Voldemort’s obsession with the Hogwarts’ Founders, a relic of either Ravenclaw or Gryffindor. The first two have already been destroyed, and someone named R.A.B allegedly destroyed the third. So that leaves three, including the snake.’

‘Thank you for the concise account of our position, Miss Granger,’ said Dumbledore, and Hermione assumed she was meant to stop. Though to be quite honest, anything Dumbledore said after this would be new information to her as well. ‘And as you might have guessed, tonight we will hopefully be recovering either the cup or the unknown relic.’

‘May I ask where it is, sir?’

‘We shall discuss that on our way. Now, we should get this detention out of the way first.’

Dumbledore pushed the ledger towards Hermione and Malfoy. On the leather cover was the Hogwarts crest and golden letters: _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: Record_. Dumbledore waved his wand, and before each of them appeared a pile of parchment and a quill. ‘Could you please copy down the title of this ledger?’

Despite her surprise at the request, Hermione swiftly did as told. Malfoy didn’t protest either, though she detected a derisive snort from him.

‘I think that should do it,’ said Dumbledore when they had both finished and set their quills down. With another flick of Dumbledore’s wand, the two quills began writing on their own, and Hermione could see that the one she had just used imitated her handwriting exactly.

‘To everyone else, you two are still serving in detention tonight while I visit Hogsmeade for a drink. I trust that both of you know how to cast a Disillusionment Charm?’

‘Yes, Professor,’ said Hermione while Malfoy merely nodded his response. Not waiting to be asked twice, he pulled out his wand and performed the spell. Hermione followed suit.

‘If you will please follow me,’ said Dumbledore, peering right at Hermione’s spot as though the concealment didn’t exist. ‘And please refrain from speaking, lest others hear you.’

They made their way to the oak front doors without incident. When they headed outside, night had already fallen. Hermione hurriedly followed Dumbledore down the stone steps into the moonlit drive. The rising wind sent the Headmaster’s travelling cloak flying behind him. Hermione, too, had to hug her cloak to herself to keep it from flapping at her sides. Not very far from their path was the lake, glistening in the moonlight. The scenery could have made for a spectacular painting, though Hermione had little time to admire it as she was practically jogging in order to keep up with Dumbledore’s long, quick strides. She took in a deep breath of the cool autumn air and briefly wondered how their group would have looked to someone from the outside. While neither she nor Malfoy could see each other, Hermione could still hear the muffled sound of his footsteps just a little bit behind her.

Hermione was eager to hear about their destination, but she didn’t dare ask. Although there was certainly no one who could have overheard them now, Dumbledore remained silent. Hermione felt her heart flutter with anticipation. Were they going to Albania? How would she help in this mission? Hermione mentally scolded herself for not finishing her reading on the area. She had made it her duty to educate herself and then Harry about Albania just in case something similar to the poison incident happened. That way, Harry would at least know how to cope in the foreign country if Dumbledore was somehow injured during the mission. It was ironic that when Hermione was given a chance to accompany the Headmaster herself, she was totally unprepared.

Only when they had started down the deserted lane that led to Hogsmeade did Dumbledore finally speak up.

‘I am sure that you are both impatient to know our destination tonight. It is the house of Tom Riddle Senior in Little Hangleton.’

‘Tom Riddle Senior?’ blurted Hermione. ‘You mean Voldemort’s Muggle father, sir?’

‘The Da—I mean, You-Know-Who’s father was a Muggle?’ asked Malfoy, and Hermione couldn’t help but smirk at the incredulous note in his voice.

‘It is not surprising that Voldemort has hidden his unfavourable heritage exceedingly well,’ said Dumbledore seriously.

‘But what about his Slytherin bloodline?’

‘It comes from his mother’s side,’ answered Hermione, unable to contain herself. After all, Malfoy didn’t exactly direct the question at Dumbledore. Then she glanced around to make sure they were still alone before adding, ‘It’s pathetic how he’s made sure everyone knows about it.’

‘You are quite right, Miss Granger.’ Dumbledore chuckled before returning to his solemn tone. ‘You have both realised, I am sure, that of his six Horcruxes, three either used to belong to Slytherin or at least emphasise Voldemort’s connection to him.’

‘If You-Know-Who is so obsessed with his heritage, wouldn’t the idea of a Philosopher’s Stone be more appealing to him in his quest for immortality? Although Slytherin himself didn’t admit it, he did make a substantial contribution to alchemy.’

At this Hermione instantly stopped and wheeled around to look at Malfoy, momentarily forgetting that they were both currently invisible. It was a good thing that she realised her mistake soon enough to avoid any crashing, though she really wished she could have seen Malfoy’s expression at that moment. Despite her avid reading on Hogwarts and the Founders, she had never encountered this piece of information. In fact, she was kind of hoping that Dumbledore would reject it as wrong, which, unfortunately, was not the case.

‘Asking is actually answering, Mr Malfoy. If you know about Slytherin’s role in the field of alchemy, I presume that you also know the reason why he never admitted to being an alchemist?’

‘Because he considered alchemy merely a delusional search, not the proper path to immortality. The Elixir of Life, if it exists, can only guarantee biological longevity, and one must become far too dependent on it to live on.’

‘So, there you have it. I suppose your father has an extensive collection of Slytherin’s work?’ asked Dumbledore casually.

‘That he did,’ replied Malfoy, sounding somewhat uncomfortable, ‘but I actually read this in Hogwarts’ library.’

‘I see,’ said Dumbledore, looking over his shoulder at the spot where Hermione assumed that Malfoy currently occupied. The Headmaster seemed to consider Malfoy for a moment before resuming his normal stroll.

They reached the High Street within a minute. Therefore, despite the burning question at the back of her mind, Hermione was forced to remain silent, given the greater likelihood of them running into someone. They did indeed encounter Madam Rosmerta, who greeted Dumbledore with a mild reproach as he admitted to heading to the Hog’s Head instead of the Three Broomsticks again.

‘Is there anything else you would like to inquire?’ asked the Headmaster as soon as they turned the corner into an empty side street.

‘Yes, sir,’ said Hermione, thoroughly grateful for the prompt. ‘I thought you already discovered the ring in the Gaunt’s house just outside the village. Why would Voldemort want to place the two Horcruxes so close to each other? I mean, doesn’t that make it more likely that someone would discover and destroy both of them?’

‘Reverse-psychology,’ whispered Malfoy’s voice from behind her.

‘Precisely,’ agreed Dumbledore. ‘And I have to admit that it has managed to fool me for quite a while, causing me to spend time searching in Albania and not expecting the next Horcrux to be so much closer to us.’

They finally drew to a stop in front of the Hog’s Head. Though both Hermione and Malfoy had already received their Apparition licenses, Dumbledore offered for them to Side-Along since neither knew the exact location. They reappeared under the cover of a small copse of trees near the summit of a hill.

‘You can remove your charm now,’ said Dumbledore, dusting off the grass caught on his travelling cloak with a swish of his wand. Hermione quickly obeyed and followed Dumbledore’s example as well. They both had to wait for Malfoy to complete his procedure of various cleaning spells. The vain git!

‘I’m afraid we shall have to walk a little farther before we can reach our final destination.’ Dumbledore gestured towards the far side of the village nestled at the base of the hills surrounding of the valley. Hermione frowned; she could not see any house that resembled the big manor Harry had described.

‘The house is currently invisible,’ explained Dumbledore. As they headed towards the village, Malfoy kept his distance but still remained within earshot. Dumbledore resumed his explanation of Voldemort’s choice of hiding place for his Horcrux.

‘Given the evidence,’ he began, ‘I believe that Voldemort didn’t hide the Horcrux here until very recently, after he had managed to secure a new body. Having acquired the ring from the Gaunts’ shack, I could not find the Riddle House. After a quick survey of the location, I concluded that it had been demolished. With the same reasoning as Miss Granger, I assumed that the house had little importance in my search for the Horcruxes. However, I recently decided to ascertain the validity of my previous theory. According to Muggle files, the demolition took place in 1994, but there has been no record of construction on the site that the house previously occupied. This raised my suspicions, and after a thorough search, I have indeed found the house still standing, one of its enchantments such a subtle deterrence spell that even I did not detect it during my initial, cursory examination.’

‘But why didn’t Voldemort hide the Horcrux right after creating it, sir?’ asked Hermione. ‘And where was it all that time?’

‘Again, this is merely guesswork, but by that point, Voldemort had stopped trusting the protection method he had previously used. In fact, Mr Malfoy may be able to help us. Can you recall any occasion when Voldemort demanded the return of an important object? From your aunt Bellatrix, perhaps?’

For a fraction of a second, Malfoy looked like he was about to shake his head, but then realisation spread over his face. ‘It was the cup,’ he said. ‘I heard that he demanded it as soon as she broke out of Azkaban.’

‘Well, that clears up matters,’ said Dumbledore. ‘If I am not mistaken, after being informed of the destruction of the diary in the possession of Mr Malfoy’s father, Voldemort decided that it would be safer to protect the Horcrux himself.’

Upon arriving at the boundary of the village, the three fell into silence once more. The lane was quite deserted, and the only sign of activity was the sound of television sets and the flickering of lights from a few windows.

A few streets down, they hit the border of a forest. Dumbledore drew his wand and gave it a casual flick. The forest instantly vanished from their sight, and in its place appeared another hillside with what Hermione could only assume had once been the Riddle manor house. In front of her now was a giant mass of very dense ivy that left only a few scattered hints of the bricks underneath.

‘This is the temporary ward I set up this afternoon after undoing Voldemort’s concealment on the place,’ explained Dumbledore. ‘It appears that he meant for the house to remain hidden from all even when they actively searched for it. However, there was a loophole in the spell that allowed me to eventually locate the manor. Had Voldemort chosen to use the Fidelius charm instead, I would never have been able to penetrate it. Perhaps Voldemort didn’t like the notion of trust connected with the Fidelius charm, and he was obviously confident in his own spell. This, once again, demonstrates his arrogance and ignorance, and he will pay dearly for it.’

‘But it would be disastrous to place your trust in the wrong person,’ said Hermione, eyeing Malfoy contemptuously.

‘Indeed. What happened to the Potters was a tragedy,’ said Dumbledore with a heavy sigh, but Hermione knew that he didn’t miss the other implication of her statement.

‘Now,’ said Dumbledore, taking a more serious tone, ‘Mr Malfoy, Miss Granger, I’m afraid that I will need your help cleaning up the ivy before we can find the entrance.’

They divided up the task so that Dumbledore would tackle the middle part while Hermione and Malfoy dealt with the left and right sides respectively. Hermione wasted no time in following Dumbledore’s instructions and was the first to approach the house. The cutting spell she was going to use worked best in close proximity. Before Hermione could raise her wand, however, a loud thump from behind made her spin around. Dumbledore was lying flat on his back about six feet from where she last saw him. Malfoy had also stopped in his tracks to the other side of the house, apparently as stunned as she.

Only as the Headmaster groggily attempted to stand up did Hermione recover from her initial shock. She raced down the hill to help him.

‘Sir, are you alright?’

‘I am quite fine. Thank you. But it seems like I have been marked.’ Dumbledore raised his blackened hand and, for the first time that evening, he looked exceedingly tired. ‘Voldemort has been getting more and more paranoid about the safety of his Horcruxes.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Malfoy, having also rejoined them.

‘I see that you two had no trouble coming close to the house?’ enquired Dumbledore, looking at Hermione and Malfoy over his half-moon spectacles. As they both shook their heads, the Headmaster went on, ‘I, on the contrary, have just been thrown back. Please forgive my lack of modesty, but this place appears to have a means of identifying and excluding the most dangerous enemy, in this case, the one who has once defied Voldemort.’

As the words slowly sank in, apprehension crept over Hermione. What were they going to do without Dumbledore? She had never once considered that possibility, having always assumed that all she would need to do was follow his guidance and help out when she could.

‘I’m afraid we have come here for nothing,’ continued Dumbledore. ‘I cannot let you go on without my aid. I apologise for my poor provision.’

Despite her worry just moments ago, Hermione couldn’t help but feel the crushing disappointment. Now that she thought about it, it would be particularly unlike Dumbledore to let them enter alone. Then again, what other choices did they have? The mission still needed to be completed.

‘But professor, sooner or later, we’ll still have to do it, won’t we?’ she asked. ‘With all of these securities, there must be a Horcrux hidden in there. Maybe I can come back with Harry and—’

‘I doubt that Mr Potter would be able to enter the premise.’

‘Because he stabbed the diary?’ asked Hermione, not quite following Dumbledore’s logic. True, Harry had destroyed one of the Horcruxes, but he had not suffered any lasting consequences by doing so.

‘Or simply because he is Harry Potter,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Please keep in mind that Voldemort designed this barrier after he had established Harry Potter as his worst enemy.’

‘In that case, I will go, sir,’ Hermione nervously volunteered. Malfoy’s conspicuous eye-rolling clearly didn’t help matters.

‘Are you sure, Miss Granger?’ asked Dumbledore, his forehead creasing with concern. ‘I must stress that this mission will be exceedingly dangerous.’

‘I am sure, Professor.’ Hermione tried to sound braver than she felt.

‘I’m afraid I still cannot let you go alone,’ said Dumbledore firmly before turning to Malfoy. ‘Mr Malfoy, I know this will probably be too much to ask, but would you mind accompanying Miss Granger on this mission? I dare say that I will be much less worried if the two of you go together.’

At this proposition, Malfoy appeared as though he was going to shout at Dumbledore that it was the worst idea ever and that if sent together, one of them was liable to end up dead even without the assistance of Voldemort’s lethal traps. For a moment, Hermione heartily concurred, though that was before she realised that doing so would effectively ruin her chance.

‘Professor,’ she said as Malfoy had yet to provide an answer, ‘is it alright for me to go back and bring Ron instead?’

‘If Malfoy here does not wish to go, of course,’ added Hermione, although her tone clearly implied to Malfoy, ‘I’d rather go with him than you any day.’

Just as she had expected, it was enough to incite an answer from Malfoy.

‘I’ll go with her,’ he blurted, before Dumbledore could even open his mouth to reply.

‘Excellent,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Before you go, I must prepare you. Firstly, always remember that appearances can be deceiving. And secondly, whenever you find yourselves stumped, put yourself in Voldemort’s shoes. His arrogance sometimes gives a solution much simpler than you may first realise.’

Hermione nodded gravely, drilling every word into her mind. Although she didn’t know how well she would be able to apply them, they were definitely worth remembering. Judging by Malfoy’s expression, however, she could tell he didn’t seem that impressed.

‘Well, then, I’ll be here waiting for your safe return. Good luck!’ finished Dumbledore after a brief pause.

And so, Hermione and Malfoy left Dumbledore at the bottom of the hill and began walking towards the house again.

‘Congratulations, Granger,’ sneered Malfoy, scrunching up his nose as they got nearer to the ivy-laden old manor. ‘Thanks to your heroic volunteering, now it’s only you, me, and this mess.’

‘It’s okay if you want to change your mind, Malfoy,’ replied Hermione placidly. ‘It isn’t like I can’t ask anyone else to help.’

Malfoy chose to ignore her remark. ‘You do the left,’ he said briskly. ‘I’ll take the right. And then we’ll both deal with the middle part.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Hermione despite half-wanting to mock him for diverting the conversation. With Malfoy, it was almost impossible to know precisely when she’d gone too far, and Hermione didn’t exactly entertain the idea of repeating the incident of the previous night.

They mutely proceeded to unravel the wild creeper, looking for an entrance. As it turned out, the front door of the house, stripped of varnish and almost decayed, was located a fair bit to the right of where they had initially considered the centre.

‘Shall we?’ asked Hermione quietly. Malfoy gave a curt nod. Holding her breath, Hermione used her wand to charm the door open without direct contact. It gave an eerie creak that reminded her of the horror films her cousin had made her watch last summer. However, what caused Hermione to gasp was what she saw on the inside of the manor, lit up to her as the moonlight streamed in. It bore no resemblance to any of those films, or to the outside of the house for that matter.

The parlour was immaculate and so were its walls, which oddly possessed no doors or windows at all.

Hermione did a double take and began considering all kinds of magic revelation spells in her brain, though she couldn’t recall anything helpful. If she had known that they would go Horcrux hunting, she would have read a few more references on the subject beforehand. Overwhelmed by the feeling of unpreparedness, Hermione stood gaping on the steps. She briefly considered whether she should go back and ask Dumbledore for guidance. However, Malfoy had already pushed past her to enter the room, his wand aloft. She decided to follow, gingerly tracing Malfoy’s exact footsteps, just in case.

They both lit up their wands. The bright light reflecting off the faded white walls only served to emphasise their flawlessness. Even after careful scrutiny, Hermione could not detect a single crack. Meanwhile, Malfoy appeared to be scanning the room more purposefully from his spot in the centre. He turned around slowly, seemingly examining every single inch of the walls and ceiling. Every once in a while he would stop and focus on a particular spot before moving on. While Malfoy appeared to know what he was doing, Hermione found it hard not to be sceptical. Nevertheless, she kept silent so as not to disturb his concentration. Well, at least, if he was actually concentrating in the first place.

Malfoy finally completed a full circle of inspection and stood with his back to the outside once more, yet he made no indication of moving away from the spot. _Oh dear, don’t tell me that he’s clueless, too._

‘Do you know how to unveil the concealment?’ she asked, unable to contain herself any longer.

‘I used to live in a house that abounded with hidden doors and deadly traps, Granger. These are basic survival skills,’ scoffed Malfoy, turning around and glaring at her. ‘Now if you will please shut up, I might just be able to locate the entrance.’

Hermione huffed. She had merely asked a question after all. Even if Malfoy really did know how to find their way, it didn’t mean he had the right to act like an arsehole. All the same, when Malfoy closed his eyes, as if trying to sense the magical traces surrounding them, Hermione found herself not even daring to breathe too loudly. The only sound left in the room was the whistle of the wind coming in through the open front door.

Hermione thought she sensed something as well. Still, she couldn’t quite place it. That was why she settled on directing her attention at Malfoy. During that short time, his neutral expression had turned quizzical. As Malfoy’s frown gradually deepened, Hermione felt her heart quicken. Had he discovered something?

Without warning, Malfoy’s eyes flew open. He whirled around and strode towards the far corner of the room. Stopping just in front of the blank wall, he began to run his fingers on the surface, chanting under his breath. Hermione could only catch some of the words, but within seconds, she managed to recognise the incantation. It was a very Dark and ancient truth spell she had come across in her desperate search for Horcruxes in the library.

Although Malfoy was currently using it to penetrate through whatever concealment was present, the spell was originally created to torture the victim with every falsehood that escaped from his or her lips. The detailed description of its effects had disgusted Hermione to the point that she’d had to stop reading any further. Nevertheless, she had seen enough to know that the drastically destructive power of the spell made it effective on immaterial objects as well. The logic behind this other application of the spell was rather simple. The concealment—its purpose to hide the true nature of something—could be considered a lie. The spell thus used would strip away the deception.

In any case, the thought of Malfoy knowing how to use such a spell scared her. Hermione found herself subconsciously taking a step back. One of the floorboards creaked slightly under her feet, but fortunately, Malfoy was too absorbed in his task to care about or even notice the noise. He had been reciting the spell again and again, covering a relatively large area until finally pausing at a particular spot. He repeated the incantation once more and rubbed his palm back and forth over the spot before withdrawing his hand.

An odd engraving appeared on the wall where Malfoy’s hand had been. It wasn’t a runic symbol or an astrological sign or anything Hermione could possibly identify. Instead, she thought it looked like a flower of sorts, with an over-sized calyx and long, thin petals which left too much space between them. There were two types of petals: four long, thin ones in the middle, all pointed upward while two slightly stouter ones stretched nearly horizontally on either side of the calyx, being almost completely separate from the others. The overall effect was absolutely hideous.

‘What is it?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Malfoy with a grimace.

‘And I thought you were the master of hidden entrances and deadly traps,’ said Hermione despite herself.

‘No two concealments are the same, Granger,’ retorted Malfoy, irritated. ‘Otherwise, they may as well have a “Hello! I’m a hidden entrance. Open me!!!” sign stuck on them.’

Hermione simply glared at him.

‘However,’ continued Malfoy slowly, ‘there is a particular characteristic that is common among—’

‘They demand payment?’

‘Well, sort of,’ he replied. ‘Unless you are the creator or have some sort of key or password. And if I’m not mistaken, the first thing one should try would be ...’

Hermione swallowed hard. She didn’t exactly like where this was going. Malfoy took out a silver dagger and made a cut across his right thumb, wincing slightly. Hermione could only see a tiny hint of red before he proceeded to press his injured thumb against the centre of the ugly flower. The blood smeared around the tip of Malfoy’s finger, a stark contrast against the white wall. Deeming it sufficient, he removed his thumb and tapped it with the tip of his wand, leaving the skin as pristine as ever. They waited with bated breath.

Nothing happened.

‘Um ... Maybe it needs more blood,’ suggested Hermione. She half-expected Malfoy to tell her to shut up and supply the blood herself, but he merely repeated the procedure and held his thumb steadily over the previous bloodstain. This time his expression didn’t change. A small streak of blood started trickling down. Malfoy then moved his thumb over the entire surface of the sign.

‘I think that should be enough,’ said Malfoy, withdrawing his hand and quickly muttering a spell to heal the wound. He turned around and leaned back on the wall next to the symbol. ‘At least now we know that it doesn’t want blood.’

‘What other kinds of sacrifice can these things demand?’ she asked.

Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest and looked at her archly.

‘Let’s say if someone told you that it cost him an arm and a leg to retrieve a particular treasure from Slytherin’s tomb, he could very well mean it literally.’


	3. Chapter 3

Draco allowed himself the luxury of a smirk at Granger's horrified expression, despite the fact that the very notion sickened him as well. What bothered him most was that he had told her the truth, not just some exaggerated tale to scare her. Even if he'd wanted to scare Granger, it wouldn't have been very successful, considering she was now looking thoughtful instead of appropriately terrified. Apparently, Granger had the ability to calm herself much quicker than Draco ever gave her credit for.

'Well, you're the expert. Aren't you going to do something?' She looked at him expectantly.

Draco snorted. Oh, yes, he was truly looking forward to giving up his arm or leg or both for the greater good. What did she take him for, some self-righteous Gryffindor? Just because Draco had initially tried to find an entrance, it didn't mean he would waste any more of his effort on a lost cause. In fact, he didn't know what had possessed him to go running ahead of Granger and doing all that work in the first place. He could have pretended that he wasn't familiar with the enchantment and been done with it. But no, once having revealed the stupid marking, he just had to go ahead and provide his blood as well. For what? To prove to Granger that he was more helpful than Weaselbee? Not bloody likely.

Nevertheless, Draco had to admit that his stupid pride had run away with him. Despite knowing full well that Granger had referred to Weasley only to provoke him, Draco'd still let it influence his decision. With his current knowledge of Horcruxes and their protection, accompanying Granger in this search sounded pretty much like a suicide.

The problem was, Draco sincerely doubted that Granger and Dumbledore had told him everything they knew about Horcruxes. He had racked his brain for any memory about the term, hoping to uncover more than the few facts he was given. Yet, all he could recall was a vague feeling that Horcruxes were connected to immortality, which had then been confirmed by Granger's explanation. The more he thought of it, the more he was sure that he had heard or seen the word Horcrux before. Whenever he attempted to dig any deeper, though, everything went fuzzy. But that might just be the fact that he was still feeling slightly light-headed from the recent blood loss.

'Malfoy? Are you listening?'

Draco blinked. 'What?'

'Clearly not,' mumbled Granger, her hands on her hips. 'I was asking if you knew anything more about this particular kind of entrance. You know, the one with a symbol carved outside. From what Harry told me about his Horcrux hunt with Dumbledore, all they had to do was to splash a piece of rock with blood. As far as I can recall, the rock had nothing special about it other than the magical trace Dumbledore detected.'

Draco sighed. In for a Sickle, in for a Galleon. It seemed he wouldn't be able to get out of this one. 'It depends,' he began. 'In some cases, the engraving is merely a means of keeping the enchantment in place.'

'Like Runic symbols?' enquired Granger, with the kind of rapt attention she usually gave McGonagall in class, and Draco reckoned he might actually enjoy this after all.

'Yes, but this is hardly any kind of script. More like a dreadful flower,' he continued, ignoring the surprised look on Granger's face. 'Otherwise, it can be a so-called keyhole that needs the appropriate 'key' to unlock. And if the creator is particularly prone to some kind of 'riddle-me-this' rubbish, then it might be the hint to whatever you need to do.'

'That's it,' said Granger, clapping her hands together. 'Voldemort would absolutely want to draw up a riddle to show how clever and superior he is.'

She continued to ramble on about how the things they had learnt about the Dark Lord's past would help them analyse the problem. Draco rolled his eyes. _Honestly_ , only Granger could find excitement in the prospect of solving a riddle on their way to destroy a piece of the soul of the most powerful wizard of their time.

'Before you get carried away with your theories, Granger, I should say what you didn't let me finish earlier,' Draco cut in, smirking. 'There's also a possibility that it's merely a distraction.'

He could hear Granger mutter something about twisted Slytherin bastards, but she stepped up to take a closer look at the engraving nonetheless. Then again, Draco hadn't been as naive as to expect his statement to dampen her interest while he was wondering at the possibilities himself.

Holding aloft her lit wand, Granger ran the index finger of her free hand over the outline of the symbol, carefully avoiding his bloodstain, although she was a bit clumsy in her attempt. Draco noticed her flinching slightly as she almost touched the spot.

'Here, this is silly,' said Granger, stepping back and waving her wand in a circular motion. For a second, Draco thought he might have a heart attack. What if she triggered a trap while _Scourgify_ -ing the engraving? However, the only result of Granger's spell was that the light detached itself from the tip of her wand and hovered in the air. If only he had thought of that while examining the walls! He would never mention that to Granger, though.

Once having directed the light to shine at a better angle, Granger shoved her wand into her pocket and began tracing the symbol again, this time with her right hand.

'Back to the key thing you mentioned earlier.' Granger gingerly put a finger into one of the petals and grimaced at the touch. 'Do you think that we really need a 'key' to unlock this?'

'As I said, it _is_ a possibility,' answered Draco, abandoning his comfortable 'backrest' to study the symbol as well. 'Though in that case, the 'key' can be anything as long as it somehow fits into the slot.'

'But it must be rather big, mustn't it? I bet Voldemort cannot keep it with him all the time, and it would make no sense if he must find another hiding place for it as well.'

'Why not?' he countered. 'That would be a trap within trap, wouldn't it? Doesn't sound that unreasonable if you're a paranoid bastard. For all we know, it may even be guarded by another elaborate security system.'

'You can't be serious,' exclaimed Granger, looking back at Draco as if searching for any sign of deceit.

'It's not too late to go back, you know,' he suggested, trying to sound as casual as possible, though in all honesty, he didn't quite pull it off. 'After all, Dumbledore couldn't blame us for not trying.'

'So that's what you're getting at, aren't you?' Granger gave Draco an evil eye, to which he merely shrugged. He saw nothing wrong with actually wanting to get out of here in one piece.

'What if it's something that Voldemort could have with him all the time without worrying about it,' she said after a pause. 'Something that would be with him regardless of its role as a key.'

'Sounds like Nagini to me,' said Draco at once. He mentally patted himself on the back for having thought up the most seemingly-true-but-actually-ridiculous suggestion possible.

'The snake?' Granger looked mildly confused, and he thought this might just work after all.

'What else can that name refer to?'

'But that makes even less sense, using one Horcrux to guard another. Besides, how do you propose that the snake could open the entrance?'

Draco chose to scowl at her instead of answering. Tricking Hermione 'I'm-a-freaking-know-it-all' Granger into running down a dead end and giving up was apparently not an easy matter. She simply glowered back at him before returning her attention to the symbol.

He couldn't restrain his eyes from following Granger's fingers as she brushed them against the petals of the flower, and somehow an uncanny connection slowly formed in his mind. When she began sliding her index finger up and down one of the petals, the tip of her finger fitting the slot almost perfectly, Draco was pretty sure that he finally got the answer.

'No, it couldn't be. It wouldn't work with a new body,' murmured Granger, more to herself than to anyone else. 'Surely Voldemort must have thought of that possibility now that he had been disembodied once. Besides, that would be far too Muggle.'

'What is it?' asked Draco, eager to find out if their thoughts coincided, though she ignored his question.

'Malfoy, you said that this might not be a keyhole?'

'Maybe,' he said, uncertain whether he should tell the truth. In the moment it took Granger to voice her question, it occurred to Draco that if they—or more specifically Granger—discovered how to open the entrance, there would be no chance for him to wriggle out. His treacherous curiosity, however, urged him to extract Granger's thoughts at all cost, and the only way was to provide a real answer to her question. 'Most of the time, the creator would be able to undo the enchantment without any outside aid anyway,' he said. 'It might be designed for intruders only. Why do you ask?'

'That explains it.' Granger nodded. 'He wouldn't have to worry about having a new hand because he didn't need one in the first place.'

He could tell that she was nearly there, so when she turned to face him, Draco decided to put on his most convincing confused expression.

'If what you said is true, then Voldemort doesn't need to hold onto the key to this thing,' explained Granger, clearly buying his lie. 'What if he wanted the intruder to apply something he thought they would have with them no matter what?'

'Blood can fall into that category,' said Draco lamely.

'But it didn't work,' she pointed out. 'It _is_ something else.'

Granger proceeded to press her hand into the slot, flinching slightly then jumping back in alarm. Surely, even if his blood was still wet, it couldn't be that disturbing. Draco looked from her stunned expression to the carving and soon found out why. The edge of the symbol had somehow tightened around Granger's hand, fitting it like a glove. Draco didn't have much time to ponder about that as a loud noise emanated from the space next to the symbol. A deep crack appeared on the wall, spreading rapidly until it opened into an entrance and revealed a long, dark hallway ahead.

He was right. They had to insert their hand into the slot, but Draco knew for a fact that it couldn't be that simple. The same line of reasoning seemed to have struck Granger as well. She frantically attempted to withdraw her hand, though it seemed to be stuck there. Granger tried to pull her hand out again, more forcefully. Draco was going to warn her that violence wouldn't help when she let out a sigh of relief, backing away from the wall with her hand fully intact. However, once Granger's hand was free, the previously open entrance started to re-seal itself and promptly left the wall as immaculate as ever.

As Granger tried inserting and withdrawing her hand a second time, the exact same pattern repeated. There was only one question left unanswered: why did the symbol have to have two different slots for the thumbs? Granger seemed keen on testing the theory as well. She decided to switch to her left hand. This time nothing happened.

'So, it must be the right hand. But that doesn't explain this,' said Granger, skimming her fingers over the other thumb slot.

'Maybe it's just a distraction, to throw the intruder off the track,' he replied despite himself. 'We did spend a while wondering what this weird symbol was, didn't we?'

'And the fact that the entrance closed every time I pulled back my hand. What does that mean?'

Draco snorted. He couldn't exactly tell whether she didn't know or was merely checking. The implication was crystal clear to him.

'I thought you were supposed to be the clever one,' he said with a rueful smile. 'It means if you want to go on, Granger, you'd better say goodbye to your right hand.'

'You mean, ch-chopping off a hand?' stuttered Granger. Clearly his arm-and-leg anecdote had been lost among the exciting world of puzzle solving in her mind. But that wasn't the end of it.

'There must be another way,' she said determinedly, pressing her hand into the slot and scrutinising it once more. 'But at least now the right hand makes much more sense.'

Draco shook his head in exasperation. 'Even if you manage to strain yourself to walk through it with your hand still pressing there, you'll still have to release at some point to go further, and BAM, the door will close and cut off your hand for you. Maybe that would be more convenient.'

'I do know that,' she scoffed. 'But Voldemort's arrogance sometimes makes the answer much simpler. We just have to think harder.'

It was so typical of Granger to quote everything Dumbledore said when facing a problem, though Draco knew for a fact that it wasn't going to help.

'This is how these kinds of things are designed, Granger, to weaken enemies,' he snarled, his blood boiling at her stubbornness. 'There is no way around it. Didn't you say earlier that even Dumbledore had to give up his blood to gain entry at the other place?'

'It doesn't mean that he jumped at the first but most inauspicious option like you,' she replied hotly.

'How else can you keep your hand on the mark and go through the door _simultaneously_? If you want to try cloning yourself, feel free to—'

Draco clapped a hand to his forehead. How could he have been so stupid? The whole point of having a clone was to have one person to open the door while the other entered, and they'd had two people all along. Ha, even without having to sweat about it, he had come up with the solution to their problem. Well, just part of the problem, but that was the beauty of it. Now, he only had to make sure that Granger would be the one who went in.

He told her about the plan, carefully stressing their dilemma: one of them must stay behind in order to keep the door open. Draco instantly regretted it the moment he finished.

'Exactly, Voldemort would never expect two people to get here looking for his Horcrux. Dumbledore was absolutely right,' responded Granger enthusiastically. 'And there has to be a way to open the entrance from the inside as well. Harry and Dumbledore got out of the cave the same way that they'd entered, and if this obstacle is anything like the one in the cave, another slot will be located on the other side.'

Still keeping her hand on the symbol, she continued, 'I'm holding this now. Can you go in and check?'

Draco made a face. He really needed something to postpone this. After all, Granger couldn't blame him for being careful with his life, so he conjured a stick and threw it through the entrance. The thing shot through and ended up at the foot of one of the walls framing the hallway. To Draco's dismay, no traps had sprung out in the process.

'How do I know you won't trap me inside?' He decided on another tactics.

'I won't,' she said solemnly. 'I need to go in there.'

'Then why don't _you_ go in while I wait out here?'

'So that _you_ can trap _me_?' she retorted.

'Well, thanks for the suggestion! I know the world will be grateful if I rid it of your bossy little arse,' he replied with a smirk.

'You wouldn't dare!' She narrowed her eyes at him.

'You just said I would,' he said drily. Granger still stood glaring at him. 'Oh, come on, Granger. You know that I've already got enough trouble without having to answer Dumbledore about your disappearance.'

'Fine,' she snapped, throwing her free hand into the air. 'But don't get any funny ideas. If you don't hold the thing open for me to come back, I can just open it from the other side and hex you into doing it.'

As Granger stepped aside, Draco approached and inserted his right hand into the slot. One, then two long minutes passed. The enchantment remained completely unresponsive. The edge of the symbol didn't even bother to wrap around his hand. What was happening here? Was it because once one hand had already been recognised by the slot, another hand couldn't be used? Maybe that was the Dark Lord's provision for Draco's trick. Simpler than you may first realise, indeed.

'I was sure that it must be the right hand,' said Granger. 'You see, the right hand is the symbol of the light, and it being swallowed by Voldemort's trap would be totally fitting.'

'It's very nice to hear your theory, but hello, it doesn't work,' he said. 'I think it's because once you've applied one hand, the slot will demand that one specifically in order to open.'

'Why?'

'Isn't it obvious?' sneered Draco. 'Tell me, is our plan completely thwarted by this?'

Granger went white. She looked down at her right hand, scrutinising it for a second before looking up at the engraving on the wall.

'Alright,' she said at last, marching towards the hidden entrance.

What? Was she actually going to pull a martyr and sacrifice her own hand? Draco grabbed at Granger's shoulder and wrenched her away from the thing.

'Are you fucking insane?' he barked.

'Do you have any other suggestion?' asked Granger, lifting an eyebrow.

When he didn't answer, her face broke into a wan smile. 'You know, I've read that there are ways to implant artificial body parts both in the Wizarding and Muggle world. Of course, they can never be as functional as the real ones, but if it comes to this...'

She trailed off, her eyes glistening. Pulling out her wand, she tried to conjure a handkerchief but failed miserably. Draco snorted. Surely, Granger couldn't be that bad. But then he understood why: she was trying to practise magic with her _left_ hand. Draco's eyes widened.

'You are giving up your wand hand, Granger. A wizard without his wand hand is as good as dead.'

'I am a witch, Malfoy.' Granger chuckled softly. Did Gryffindors have to possess a pathetic sense of humour _in addition_ to their stupid heroic ideal?

'Besides, I can start training my left hand to use the wand instead,' she added. 'And there'll be the new hand as well.'

Somehow this managed to project in Draco's head an image of Granger with Wormtail's silver hand. It was quite disconcerting to say the least. He couldn't let Granger do this, though he convinced himself that it was not for her sake. After all, Draco would be strictly worse off if she ever decided to slap him with a metal hand. A compromise was in order, at least for now.

'We'll try my left hand first. Then, if it doesn't work, you can go about cutting off your hand all you want.'

The moment his hand touched the inside of the symbol and began to be enveloped in it, Draco jerked back immediately, biting his lips to suppress a scream of pain. Under his clutched hand, Draco's left arm was practically smouldering. Within seconds, he realised: it was the Dark Mark.


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione held her breath as Malfoy slowly raised his left hand to the symbol. Although all logic seemed to suggest that this would be futile, she couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. She almost jumped with joy when the crack reappeared, though within a fraction of a second, it was gone. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Malfoy backing away from the wall, his right hand covering his left forearm.

Hermione felt her heart seize. 'What's happened?'

'Nothing,' he said, shaking his head. 'Just a side-effect of the two symbols recognising that they share a creator. I should have known this would happen.'

Hermione bit her lips. 'So, what now?'

'Did the wall crack up when I first pressed my hand?'

'Yes, I think,' replied Hermione. 'It was too fast.'

'Well then, I guess this is still better than hand chopping.' He chuckled. 'When the entrance reopens, run to the other side as fast as you can. I won't be able to hold it for long.'

Hermione nodded and quickly positioned herself in front of where the entrance was.

'I'm ready,' she said to Malfoy, who seemed to have just prepared for Hermione's entry as well.

Malfoy pressed his left hand against the engraving once more, grunting a little as he kept it steady. Hermione knew that her eyes had not deceived her a few moments ago. The wall cracked opened again, and as soon as the entrance morphed into its proper shape, she raced through it.

'All done,' Hermione called out. She turned around and caught a glimpse of Malfoy's quick nod before the entrance resealed itself. The light from Hermione's wand—which had followed her through the door—illuminated the wall before her. Just as she'd expected, there was an identical symbol on this side.

Not entirely sure which hand Voldemort would demand this time, she decided to try her right hand first. It worked instantly, and soon Malfoy was joining her in the hallway.

Hermione retracted her hand and turned back to the dark hallway. Her light—while enough for examining the wall earlier—seemed almost useless now. Malfoy pulled out his wand and shot up another light to join hers. It was then that Hermione realised the most crucial detail concerning Voldemort's trap.

'You are left-handed,' she exclaimed.

'So?' countered Malfoy, raising an eyebrow.

'The slot demanded your left hand, Malfoy,' replied Hermione. 'You should have listened to yourself. "A wizard without his wand hand is as good as dead." Voldemort wanted us to give up precisely that hand, the wand hand.'

'Makes sense,' agreed Malfoy, apprehension flickering across his features. 'It would make defeating the next obstacles much more difficult, if not impossible.'

'You're right. He wanted to weaken his enemy to a much larger extent than we'd thought. In the last hiding place, it was just blood.'

'Increasingly paranoid, Granger,' he reminded her with a smirk. 'I thought you would have memorised everything Dumbledore said.'

'Well, yes,' said Hermione, finding her lips curling into a small smile. 'We really should put ourselves in Voldemort's shoes more completely next time.'

Hermione swiftly cast her eyes around. The hallway turned out to be shorter than it initially appeared in the thick darkness. There were only a total of five or six doors along it, and with the aid of Malfoy's light, she could now vaguely see a staircase near the end of the hall, leading to the upper floor.

Hermione and Malfoy strode down, the thick layer of dust stirring up at their steps. Unlike the room they had just left, most of the doors were left open; some had even been partly pulled off their hinges. When they entered through the first door, their eyes met with total destruction, and Hermione could feel the smell of decay hit her nostrils. Broken bits and pieces of furniture were scattered everywhere, lying under a veil of dust. It was only possible to make out some of the items: a grand piano that had been split in half, the remainder of a sofa that had been turned upside down, and a fireplace with a deep crack running along its surface.

She walked inside, carefully watching her step. Malfoy did the same. Hermione was at a loss to find a potential portal. It seemed that in Harry's journey, the path had been so much clearer.

'So, you're interested in alchemy?' asked Hermione, stepping over a piece of wood on her way towards the fireplace.

'Never thought you were one for small talk, Granger.' Malfoy sniggered from the other side of the room.

'There are a lot of things you don't know about me.' She snorted. 'I just want to know how you found out about Slytherin's involvement in alchemy.'

'Okay, I get it,' said Malfoy, amusement evident in his voice. 'You are being overcome by a sense of know-it-all rivalry.'

'Draco Malfoy concedes to being a know-it-all. Never thought I'd live to see the day,' mocked Hermione. She cast a quick Scouring Charm over the mantelpiece but could not find anything remotely helpful on its surface. 'Seriously, Malfoy, just answer the question.'

'My grandfather introduced me to the field when I was a kid,' he replied.

'Not that question. I meant the one about Slytherin,' snapped Hermione, though she had to admit Malfoy's answer was kind of interesting.

'Have you read any of Flamel's papers?'

'Not really,' Hermione confessed. To be quite honest, other than looking him up in relation to the Philosopher's Stone in her first year, she hadn't done much study in the field of alchemy.

'Flamel mentioned in one of his papers that his successful creation of the Philosopher's Stone was thanks to an inspiration from one of Slytherin's works. It's not a very well-known fact.'

'I thought you said Slytherin practically scoffed at the idea of the Elixir of Life,' she asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

'Exactly. And the specific work Flamel referred to actually pointed out the ridiculousness of using alchemy to achieve immortality.'

'I find that hard to believe,' stated Hermione bluntly.

'You have to know something well to criticise it properly,' responded Malfoy as though it was obvious. Although she did agree to some extent, Hermione was itching to point out that Slytherin had disparaged Muggle-borns without knowing anything about them. She thought it best to keep quiet, however, as it would at least maintain their current truce.

They searched the room in silence for a while, but it turned out to be a waste of time. Besides, the idea of Voldemort choosing a random room to hide his Horcrux in was plainly ridiculous.

'I think we should split up to expedite the search,' suggested Malfoy. 'You stay down here and I'll go upstairs.'

As Hermione explored the ground floor, the rooms all posed the same picture of devastation. Her very last inspection was a moderate-sized room with a coffin lying in the middle. At first glance, this room was no different—just another kingdom of dust and spider webs. It shouldn't have been surprising to encounter a coffin, for it seemed intrinsically fitting with the house's deathly atmosphere. Upon closer consideration, though, the coffin seemed out of place. Ruined, eerie, dusty, and barely recognisable as they were, all of the contents of the other rooms showed that they had once been a functional part of everyday existence. Hermione could practically tell which room was which. There was a kitchen, a living room, bathrooms, and also what she suspected had been a recreational room. But this room was virtually empty except for the coffin. Why would someone want to have such a thing in any room of their house?

Hermione was in the middle of her reasoning when she heard footsteps coming from behind. Malfoy had apparently finished his search.

'You were quick,' she said without looking back, an accusing note in her voice.

'Most of the first floor is covered in ivy branches. There's little point searching,' he drawled in reply. 'I see that you've found something far more interesting.'

Hermione did not respond but instead focused on the task at hand. She raised her wand, preparing to lift the lid off the coffin when Malfoy shouted, 'Stop! You don't know what kind of traps will be triggered if you open that coffin.'

 _Or what kind of disgusting creatures are hiding in there_ , Hermione's brain automatically supplied, and a chill crept up her spine. He clearly had a point, though Hermione refused to admit it.

'You think the floor will collapse or something when the coffin is opened?' she retorted. 'Remember that Voldemort would have to open the coffin as well, and I think we are agreed that there's no other place that could be the next entrance.'

'It could happen. Either the thing must be opened in a certain way or there are some foul creatures waiting in there to attack if you're not their master.'

'So what do you propose we do?' she questioned, folding her arms over her chest.

'You lift the—'

'I was just about to do that,' snapped Hermione.

'You cannot wait for anyone to finish a bloody sentence, can you, Granger? I was going to say: you lift the lid as _slowly_ as possible while I will prepare to fight whatever pops out from there.'

'Wait! What do you think it is? An Inferius?'

'Inferi, in the plural, Granger,' scolded Malfoy. 'If we are lucky.'

As Malfoy stood in position, wand at the ready, Hermione carefully raised the lid, inch by inch. They both held their breaths, but even when the whole lid was hovering more than a foot above the coffin, there were no traps triggered and no creatures springing up to attack.

Was it really this easy? Would something only jump up when they tried to approach? Hermione refrained from voicing the question in her head lest the noise disturb whatever lay inside. They cautiously approached the coffin.

When they finally came close enough to peek inside, Hermione ground to an abrupt halt. The coffin was completely empty.

'This can't be,' she gasped. Her shoulders slumped as she lowered the coffin's lid to the ground. 'I think we might have missed the real portal in another room.'

Malfoy let out a string of frustrated curses. 'Okay,' he said after calming himself down. 'How did Potter and Dumbledore get to the Horcrux after they passed the first entrance?'

'They travelled in a boat,' said Hermione. 'Did you come across anything that we could travel in?'

As she said this, Hermione's eyes darted back to the coffin. She looked up to see Malfoy had done the same. They stared at each other for a moment before Hermione finally spoke up.

'I think we will have to lie inside this coffin to travel to our next spot.'

They both returned their attention to their prospective means of transportation. The thing clearly looked like it was meant for one person only.

'Ladies first,' said Malfoy, holding out his arm in a mock-gentlemanly gesture.

'I don't think so,' said Hermione gruffly.

'What now? Little Miss Gryffindor doesn't feel so brave anymore?'

She ignored his remark.

'We should go together. I doubt that this thing will return here to welcome its next passenger,' she said, crossing her arms. 'You were hoping that this would be the case, weren't you?'

'Aww, you've caught me.' Malfoy clasped one hand over his mouth and pretended to gasp. 'Then again, if you think I would wriggle myself into that filthy hole with your Mudblood arse, then you are gravely mistaken,' he sneered.

Hermione's blood boiled. To think that she had tried her best to avoid the topic for the sake of the mission. How dare Malfoy insult her with the term!

'What is wrong with you?' she roared.

'This is how I was raised, Granger,' snapped Malfoy, drawing himself up to his full height.

'By bigoted, murdering parents,' she yelled back.

'Don't you dare say that about my parents!' Malfoy advanced towards her, but Hermione stood her ground, not at all intimidated.

'I'm speaking of the truth. Have you forgotten how your father ended up in Azkaban? For attacking children!'

'You do _not_ have the right to be the judge of that, Granger!'

'But you pure-bloods have?' Hermione raised her voice, her cheeks flushing. ' _You_ have the right to classify us as filthy creatures, even before you've met us, don't you? Do you really believe that crap, Malfoy? After all, your respectable Dark Lord is just the son of a lowly Muggle.'

'He is _not_ my lord.'

'Oh, right! What a reformed Death Eater you are!' She threw her head back in a mirthless laugh. 'One would have thought that when you accepted Dumbledore's offer, you must have changed your blood prejudice, at least a little bit.'

'How can you tell that I have not changed? You know nothing about me!' he shouted, his eyes flashing with fury.

'Enough to know that you're still keeping your snobbish ways!'

'My ways? My ways?' Malfoy's hands had balled into fists. 'Nothing in my fucking life is the same as it was anymore, and you dare say that I haven't changed my ways. Have you learnt nothing throughout three months' worth of ogling?'

'I did not ogle,' cried Hermione, stomping her foot.

'What do you call it then? Conducting research on the psychology of reformed Death Eaters through the case study of Draco Malfoy?'

When she did not responded, he added coldly, 'You'd better look at yourself first, Granger. Have you ever stopped to think about how much of a snob you are?'

' _I_ am a snob?' she demanded in outrage. 'What could possibly make you say that?'

'There are two Head Students, Granger, not just one Head Girl who runs everything.'

'So you're still holding a grudge about that.' Hermione pursed her lips disdainfully.

'I am not holding grudge,' countered Malfoy. 'It's just an example of how you think you're better than everyone at everything and just have to do it all yourself.'

'I don't think I'm better than everyone,' she protested.

'How do you explain your tendency to take over all of the Heads' duties? Surely it couldn't be—'

'I did not trust you!' shouted Hermione. Her words echoed uncomfortably in the empty room.

'Fine,' spat Malfoy, as though stung. 'Let's get this over with so that you can be spared from spending any more time with this untrustworthy bastard.'

Hermione didn't dare say anything else or even stop Malfoy as he swung his leg over the ledge of the coffin and climbed inside. If the contraption was meant to be activated by weight, then Malfoy's move was as good as going alone and leaving her behind. To her relief, the coffin stayed put. She gingerly stepped nearer, her reluctance to get closer to Malfoy overshadowing her fear for Voldemort's coffin. She never thought that her distrust would affect Malfoy that much. Did he really care?

'Come on, Granger,' he sneered, having already positioned himself inside the coffin. 'We don't have all day.'

'How am I supposed to get in when you've already hogged all the space?' she asked, stopping next to the ledge. Though Hermione didn't mean for her voice to sound reprimanding, it did. However, she consoled herself that Malfoy would only be more pissed off if she treaded on him.

'Do you think it would be better if we both lie on our side?' she added quickly.

'We won't fit even with a little hug fest,' said Malfoy, his voice void of any emotions. 'There is only one way.'

'Lying on top of each other?' asked Hermione. 'But are you okay with—'

'So, now you want me to get out so that you can be at the bottom instead?'

'No, that's not what I meant.' She hastily shook her head.

'Thank you,' mumbled Hermione as she stepped into the coffin, carefully putting her feet in the tiny bit of free space. She swiftly cast a gravity-reducing charm on herself and lay back on Malfoy. Although the spell helped her keep only minimal contact between their bodies, Hermione still felt a shiver down her back.

Malfoy's words were still echoing in her head. _Nothing in my fucking life is the same as it was anymore._ She knew he was telling the truth. All this time, she had thought life with the Order was a blessing to him, an escape from the mental torture wrought by Voldemort. But now that she considered it, maybe his current life was a torment as well, only in a different way. He was not only forced to mingle with those whom he disliked but also unable to see any of those he cared about.

'Are you trying to suffocate me, woman?' growled Malfoy from under her. 'Sorry,' she said softly, gathering her hair around her neck and holding it to her chest. Hermione tilted her head to one side, though she could still feel his hot breath on her neck.

'Is that better?' she asked, her voice a tad shaky. Why was her heart beating so fast? Hermione closed her eyes and prayed that Malfoy didn't hear it, too.

***

Draco stormed towards the coffin, despite his initial wariness about the object. _I did not trust you!_ Granger's words still rang in his ears. But why did he care? He had known all along that she didn't trust him, hadn't he? He had seen it in her eyes—and those of others—such countless times that it hardly seemed to matter. Since when did he need trust—from Granger of all people—anyway? All that he needed was for his family and him to survive this war. Still, that was precisely why she should have understood: he had no way of accomplishing his goal if Potter's side lost. He had implicitly signed a contract tying his fate with theirs that night, and there was no way to turn back. But if there had been one, would he have turned? Draco mentally scolded himself for wasting his time considering an option that would never exist.

He settled into the coffin and admonished Granger for her slowness. He honestly didn't care that she was going to lie on top of him. He just wanted to get this over with. However, Granger didn't seem comfortable with the idea. They had another verbal sparring match about the matter, though not nearly as heated as the previous one. Draco tried to keep his temper. He convinced himself that their fighting was just a normal occurrence. Then again, hadn't they had a perfectly civil conversation just about half an hour ago, when she asked him about Slytherin's involvement in alchemy?

Granted, it hadn't been a proper conversation, since all Draco did was tell Granger about Flamel's reference to Slytherin's work, and she had decided not to dig any deeper. Draco had been glad that it ended there. He didn't want to reveal more details about Slytherin's book, but he would also hate to let Granger think he was merely bragging about something he didn't know well.

As it happened, Slytherin's book was, essentially, not a book about alchemy at all. _L'astuce, le pouvoir, et l'épouvante: Atteindre l'immortalité_ —or, _Cunning, Power, and Dread: Achieving Immortality,_ as it had been aptly titled—was a book about achieving power, greatness, and ultimately immortality by establishing a lasting legacy. Nevertheless, Slytherin had devoted an entire section to pointing out the fallacy of striving for immortality through alchemy, or any other kinds of magic, for that matter. Draco had always thought it odd that there was only one chapter in the section on magic, arguing the case of alchemy, though it would seem logical that Slytherin would put more weight on the part he knew best, wouldn't it?

In any case, Draco didn't want Granger to know he had read about such topic. He could hardly justify the reason why. He couldn't possibly be worried about her thinking less of him, could he? More importantly, he did _not_ care about her opinion.

As Granger settled herself down, Draco was startled by how little she weighed: she was too light, almost feather-like. Must be another fucking trick of hers. He just didn't understand her sometimes, well, most of the time if he was being completely honest.

Draco's frustration with himself grew. He took it out on Granger, lashing out at every other nonsensical thing. She seemed rather subdued after their shouting match, though he didn't know if she was afraid of him or feeling guilty about what she had said earlier. Either way it didn't make him feel any better. And he had thought that being feared was supposed to be gratifying. Even Slytherin had argued thus in his book, and up until a very recent point in Draco's life, he had never questioned it. Then again, he had watched so many principles that he used to take for granted crumble in the space of a year. Hadn't Slytherin also asserted that Muggle-borns were inferior? Draco had to admit that Granger was right. He didn't quite believe in that ideal any more, and as unpleasant as the truth seemed, it was Granger herself who had been the deciding factor. Everything about her was a contradiction to what he was taught to believe. Even when he had been flaunting his brilliant plan at Dumbledore last year on the Astronomy Tower, he hadn't been able to avoid mentioning her cleverness. His twisted smile might have made an ostentatious statement of how proud he was to have exploited the Mudblood's ideas to achieve his end, but inwardly he had been laughing at himself: _Marvellous job, Draco! You couldn't have done anything without the ingenious 'advice' of a Muggle-born_. Throughout his sixth year, he had kept wondering: if even Granger's offhanded comments could give him ideas, then—morality aside—would she be much more capable of accomplishing his mission than he was? Nevertheless, if Draco had been more honest with himself, his doubts about Granger's inferiority had started long before that, when even the substantial increase of his library time in second year couldn't keep her out of the top spot in almost every subject.

Yet, he still called her a Mudblood. The insult still came out of his mouth with the same frequency, although it felt less and less natural on his tongue each time. If there was one thing from his old life that he could hold on to, one thing that wouldn't cost him his life, it was insulting Hermione Granger with her blood status. Draco let out a mirthless chuckle. There was only one word to sum up his life: pathetic.

'What was that?' Granger's question snapped him back to reality. It appeared that she had sat up while Draco was still lost in thoughts. Whipping her head around, she stared at him.

'Nothing,' answered Draco coldly.

'Good,' said Granger, returning to her original focus. It was then that he realised she had been suspending the coffin's lid in mid-air. She was now levitating it towards them until it was mere inches above her head. Then, to Draco's shock, she lay down, lowering the lid completely.

'What the hell do you think you're doing?' he barked.

'Getting us going,' replied Granger placidly. 'It's Voldemort's intention. He wants the intruder to truly face the fear of death.'


	5. Chapter 5

Both Hermione and Malfoy had settled themselves into the coffin, but the thing still refused to budge. There must be a way to trigger the mechanism, though it couldn't be the weight. As Dumbledore had told Harry before, Voldemort would care more about the amount of magic that would travel in his 'carriage'. If it wanted magic as powerful as that of Voldemort himself, then clearly she and Malfoy were failing. Nonetheless, this was designed for the intruder as well. Why else would Voldemort want to travel in a coffin?

  


Once she calmed herself down from the shock of physical contact with Malfoy, realisation dawned. Again, it was Voldemort striving to instil fear. What would be more fearful than the sense of death itself? At least that was likely what Voldemort would think. Being shut inside a coffin was a fitting imitation indeed. Although Hermione knew what Dumbledore would say, she couldn't help but feel a little intimidated by the idea. However, an imitation was just that—an imitation. She wasn't going to die in this giant tomb created by that insane monster.

  


Hermione was a bit wary about Voldemort's willingness to travel in the thing himself. Then again, it'd be different for him. Voldemort would think that he was Death's conqueror. It was just like with the Inferi in the cave. He put them there not only to serve as an army ready to attack but also as a scare tactic: he expected others to be scared of them. But Voldemort did not fear them, for he was the one who created them. It was ironic, in a way, that in spite all his allusions of fearlessness, Voldemort was obsessed and terrified of Death. This was manifested even in the title he had given to himself: Lord Voldemort—Flight from Death.

  


Having reasoned things to her satisfaction, Hermione sat up and brought the lid down, ignoring Malfoy's outraged protest. If there was a time when she had to use aggression, it was now. Confused as she was about how Malfoy's mind worked, Hermione still knew it would be a waste of time trying to persuade him into agreeing with her plan. Hermione lowered the lid slowly. Just as she'd anticipated, as soon as the lid sealed them in securely, the coffin was set in motion. She barely had time to mutter ' _Lumos_ ' to replace the original ball of light that had been left behind in the room.

  


Hermione gasped. It was almost like travelling in a lift, only more violently, since the coffin was virtually free falling. Coupled with her anti-gravity spell, she was pressed against the inside of the lid as they rapidly descended into Hell, the air outside the coffin whistling around them.

  


The coffin hit hard ground. Hermione was thankful that the charm seemed to have cushioned her fall, though Malfoy didn't seem that lucky. The series of expletives coming from him was evidence enough. Hermione wondered if Voldemort had built in some kind of feature that would help make the journey less horrible if he was the one travelling, but there was no time for idle speculation. She tried to push open the lid with her hand and then a blasting charm, but to no avail.

  


Before Hermione could try anything else, an emerald light filled the coffin. On the wooden surface before her, words in ornate calligraphy gradually appeared as if an invisible hand was carving them:

  


[ ](http://s99.photobucket.com/albums/l287/leopion/Detention%20with%20Destiny/?action=view&current=Voldyspoem.jpg)

  


The light only glowed long enough for Hermione to finish reading the poem. But even in the darkness that followed, she found her lips curling up in a smile. Of course, it was so typical of Voldemort to flaunt his name, to gloat about his victory and remind his enemy that they were about to die by his hand. The real question, though, was whether he was arrogant enough to put the clue as to find an escape in the verse as well. Her argument from the first obstacle came back. There was no doubt that this was Voldemort's riddle. A rush of excitement coursed through Hermione's veins. She lost no time in lighting up her wand to examine the verse again and swiftly forming a rough translation in her mind.

  


_Lord who refuses to believe his own end  
Flight from such trivial fate is not a gift but an achievement  
Of great toil and at a very startling price  
Death must claim many for one to possess it _

  


Hermione was glad that she knew enough French to at least comprehend the message. She thought perhaps the language barrier was Voldemort's rationale in choosing it. Most British witches and wizards would recognise straight away the name Vol-De-Mort in the first words of each line and would likely figure out that ' _Seigneur_ ' meant 'Lord'. This would effectively accomplish Voldemort's flaunting goal. However, when it came to actually decoding the thing, it would be much harder with the foreign language.

  


'Do you know how to cast a Bubble-Head Charm, Granger?' asked Malfoy out of the blue.

  


'What?' exclaimed Hermione, startled. 'Why?'

  


'In case you haven't noticed, we are both stranded in an _enclosed_ compartment,' said Malfoy. 'Soon, the air will run out.'

  


'Right,' agreed Hermione before pointing her wand at her head and murmuring the incantation, though no bubble appeared.

  


'I swear that I've done it hundreds of times before,' she muttered. Hermione was surprised when Malfoy's response was not a taunt.

  


'You-Know-Who must have thought of that and created counter-measures,' he said.

  


She nodded nervously. They had to figure out this puzzle soon, otherwise death would really be waiting. Hermione realised that she required Malfoy's help. Two heads would certainly be better than one.

  


'Do you speak French?' she asked.

  


'Yes,' replied Malfoy curtly, though Hermione told herself not to mind. After all, they both needed to be economical with their breath.

  


'The first line seems to refer to Voldemort himself,' said Hermione, trying to share her thoughts with as few words as possible. 'But from the second line onward, it clearly refers to something instead of someone.'

  


She stopped to think further. Could that something belong to Voldemort? It had to be something that would be tied to his description of himself in the first sentence. _Refuses to believe his own end_. What could that mean? The idea that he was invincible? But how was that a flight from a trivial fate? Because everyone else could be defeated? No, that was too vague. The third line was obviously a continuance of the second, with the same ambiguous reference that could be anything. Hermione decided to skip to the last one: _Death must claim many for one to possess it._ An army of Inferi? No, that would be too crude, not to mention that it didn't seem to have any special appeal to Voldemort. What made Voldemort pride himself above all other wizards? _Think, Hermione, think._ Dumbledore had said to Harry that Voldemort was beyond the realms of 'usual evil'. It must have something to do with it. And Dumbledore had mentioned this when they were talking about—of course, the Horcruxes. One must kill in order to possess them. Could this be the password? But Voldemort would have expected the intruder to know about it, wouldn't he?

  


'Horcrux,' said Hermione. Her voice sounded more like a question than a statement. It didn't work, though she was still sure that it was the connotation of the last line and proceeded to tell Malfoy. He didn't comment, but Hermione took it as a sign of agreement. She was starting to feel her lungs straining for air, and surely so was Malfoy. No time for unnecessary exchanges.

  


Hermione had worked out the last sentence and found its connection with the first one, but the other two still appeared to be a complete mystery. Starting with the second line, did creating a Horcrux or Horcruxes make a person extraordinary? If so, then doing anything that other people didn't do would qualify. And then there was the other part of the line: _not a gift but an achievement_. Hermione fought the urge to snort. Only Voldemort would refer to killing people as any sort of achievement.

  


'Death is what he meant by " _sort banal_ ",' Malfoy's statement interrupted her thoughts. Hermione had a feeling that he was right. Everyone must die, except for Voldemort, so it was no exaggeration to say Death was such a _trivial_ fate to him. What's more, Death was precisely what the monster sought to avoid.

  


Okay, so his achievement was to not be killed rather than killing people, though he had to commit the latter to attain the former. Things were starting to come together, yet Hermione felt her head start spinning, an invisible grip on her chest. She tried to draw a deep breath. The rush of oxygen to her lungs and then her brain made her feel much better, but she knew that there were only so many breaths left for her to take in this coffin. She had to connect the third sentence with the rest before the air ran out.

  


What was it again? Hermione opened her eyes and squinted at the engraving. Although her vision was also beginning to blur, she could still make out most of the key words: _lutte immense et coût surprenant. '_ Great toil and startling price _,'_ she murmured, momentarily forgetting about the need to keep her thoughts solely in her head. If there was something that Voldemort would have to pay for, then it was his arrogance and ignorance. But that couldn't be it.

  


All the same, if the goal was to escape from death, then it hadn't been easy for him. Hermione's mind raced as she struggled with each agonising breath. What price did he pay? And how was that price related to the Horcrux? _Say something, Malfoy_ , she willed, but there was still utter silence. It would have been eerie if not for the small light Hermione had created and the fact that she could still feel Malfoy's chest rise and fall under her. Hermione could only hope that he was searching for an answer as well.

  


Chiding herself for letting her mind stray from the urgent matter, Hermione re-focussed her attention. The price Voldemort had to pay? The bastard would definitely have bragged about it to his worst enemy, Harry Potter, if he thought it important enough to be said here. She rummaged through her memory for something Voldemort had said to Harry, something about a price, about pain and suffering. Dozens of quotes surged through, but only one of them made her thoughts halt. _I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost ... but still, I was alive._ It seemed close enough, and Hermione fought against the dizziness to think harder. _I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality._ Immortality—flight from Death—it was what Voldemort strove to achieve and—in his own mind—had eventually possessed. He had accomplished his quest by creating not just one Horcrux but six of them, using the _deaths_ of _many_ other people.

  


'That's it! Immortality,' she burst out, her heart filled with hope. Then Hermione realised that the riddle should be answered in its own language.

  


'C'est l'immortalité,' she declared, feeling more confident than ever.

  


She waited. Nothing happened. Hermione's heart fluttered with fear. No, it couldn't be. The clues all fitted, but why didn't it open? Maybe the password only broke the lock, and all she had to do was to lift the cover. She slammed her hands fruitlessly against the lid: it wouldn't budge.

  


Tears gathered in Hermione's eyes. This was all wrong. She was never going to get out of this hell. The vice-like grip on her chest was tightening rapidly, and Hermione felt her brain gradually cease to function. So this was what the end would be like. Voldemort really had meant for his offender to face Death.

  


***

  


Draco could tell that Granger was starting to panic, but he decided to ignore her rambling to focus on his own thoughts.

  


'This is all wrong,' she breathed before the light from her wand suddenly died out. Draco could hardly move with Granger lying on top of him; the pressure of her weight on his chest had intensified almost ten-fold. Though he couldn't see, he could sense her body going gradually limp. Draco struggled to get his hand free, but it was crammed too tightly in between his body and the coffin's side.

  


'Hold on, Granger, hold on,' he whispered in the darkness. It was almost impossible to suck in enough air, but he could tell that they were not out of oxygen yet. It must have been easier for Granger to breathe than for him, being on top. Why did she suddenly pass out? He had to recover the light to see what had happened. Had Granger unwittingly triggered some sort of trap from the lid and suffered the worst of it?

  


Draco tried to prop himself up and shake her awake, but her body only jerked up then fell back onto him like a listless life-sized doll.

  


_Fuck you, Granger,_ thought Draco. _The last thing I need is for you to die on me now._


	6. Chapter 6

In the pitch-black darkness, the only thing Draco could feel was Granger's weight on his chest and the burning pain in his lungs, though he knew he had no time to panic. He had to solve the puzzle soon or they would both die in this coffin.

Draco quickly recalled what Granger had said just before she began to go frantic: _C'est l'immortalité_. It was amazing that she had figured out so much without any of the background he had. Draco had suspected an allusion to the same thing from the beginning, though he had too many doubts to be certain he was correct. The only fact he could confirm was the implication of the so-called 'trivial fate', having heard his father reiterate the Dark Lord's goal—to conquer death—on various occasions. Plus, he could point out the parallel between the phrase in the verse and You-Know-Who's pseudonym.

Then again, the similarities between the verse and Slytherin's words were also more than striking. Even though the quote hadn't been on his mind, a few minutes of digging through his memories had supplied a passable recollection:

 _L'immortalité, c'est la condition d'un homme qui refuse de croire à sa propre fin. Ce n'est pas un cadeau mais un achèvement pour lequel il faut payer cher, et la mort n'est que la première étape._

(Immortality is the condition of a man who refuses to believe his own end. It is not a gift but an achievement for which one must pay dearly, and death is only the first step.)

It was indisputable that some of the Dark Lord's phrases had been borrowed directly from the foreword of Slytherin's book. However, what bothered Draco was the divergence in their underlying message. The last line of the verse denoted the death of _others,_ rather than Slytherin's allusion to the death of the one who strove for immortality himself.

Even if he supposed that You-Know-Who interpreted Slytherin's words in his own twisted way, that very line was still an oddity. He had to agree with Granger that it clearly referred to the Horcruxes, though that was where the connection failed. Emphasising his relation to Slytherin, showing that he was wiser than others by referring to the book, it all fitted together except for that one detail: Slytherin had never mentioned anything about Horcruxes. However, he had said a lot about immortality, and there was obviously a link between the two. Draco'd had a feeling about that link even before he knew what a Horcrux actually was. Horcruxes and immortality. _Les Horcruxes et l'immortalité_. If only he could remember where he had encountered that link. Though now it seemed hopeless, as his grip on consciousness began slipping.

 __

 _Draco was six, and it was the first time he had ever been allowed in Grandfather's study. He looked up in wonder at Grandfather's huge oak desk, a snake twisting itself around each of its legs. What piqued Draco's curiosity, however, was a leather-bound book lying open on top of the desk. He quickly scrambled onto Grandfather's chair to look at it. The book was in French, he noticed eagerly. Grandfather had started teaching him French a few months ago. Now, it was Draco's chance to put it to the test. Unfortunately, the first word he encountered on the open page was not at all familiar._

 _'Quels sont les Horcruxes, Grand-père?' he asked, still determined to impress._

 _'You're too young to know about them, Draco,' replied his grandfather in English, much to Draco's disappointment. He didn't give up that easily, though. Draco grabbed a bookmark from the desk to mark the page Grandfather was on and closed the book to look at the title. Of the silver letters that adorned the cover, his attention was drawn to the two biggest words: Atteindre l'immortalité. However, before Draco had time to examine the whole title any further, his grandfather had returned to the desk and taken the book out of Draco's hand, replacing it with another book he'd just taken off his shelf._ The Alchemist's Tales, _said the title._

 _Draco's eyes lit up in awe. 'What is an alchemist?'_

 _'Why don't you read and find out?' said his grandfather. Draco enthusiastically obeyed, and by the time he opened the first page, he had completely forgotten about the strange French book._

' _L'astuce, le pouvoir, et l'épouvante: Atteindre l'immortalité_ ,' the name burst out from Draco's mouth as his brain got back into gear. Of course—the section about magic—Draco had always suspected that there was something more to it, but he had never dreamt that he would discover the truth in this situation. He suddenly realised why Dumbledore had looked at him so intently when Draco said that he had read it in Hogwarts' library: the Headmaster wanted to see if he was lying about not knowing about Horcruxes. Had Draco read the book from the Manor's library, he would have known much more about the dark artefacts. But at Hogwarts, Voldemort, or quite possibly Dumbledore, had removed the chapter on Horcruxes from the library book.

As he saw a glimmer of light cutting through the utter darkness, Draco knew that he had given the perfect answer.

***

Hermione coughed as cold air abruptly flooded into her lungs. It was painful at first, but after a while, her breathing calmed. What met her eyes as she opened them looked like the rough ceiling of a stone cave rather than the coffin lid she'd expected.

'The coffin's open,' she exclaimed.

'Yeah, I gave it the password,' drawled a voice from beneath her.

'You gave it the password?' cried Hermione in utmost amazement. Malfoy had just saved her life, and with the answer to the riddle no less.

'Later, Granger. You may see no need to get out, but I'm virtually squashed in here.'

'Sorry,' said Hermione, gingerly hoisting herself up. She was still exhausted from the trauma, and her muscles were aching from staying in one position for too long.

Hermione had to squeeze her eyes shut for a moment before she could adjust to the bright light coming from the other side of the cave. The source was a different atmosphere of sorts, where the air had formed a sinuous emerald veil, almost like clouds but also like water at the same time. It looked as if made of memories, only it was green and glowing in the darkness, gradually dimming as it spread out. In its most luminous spot rested what they had been looking for. On the pedestal at the centre, Hufflepuff's cup was sparkling in the emerald light. Hermione was stunned by the beauty of the sight.

'Aren't you going to get off?' Malfoy's scold pulled Hermione out of her daze. She quickly clambered out of the coffin, fumbling a little before finally setting her feet firmly on the uneven ground. She turned back to Malfoy, who seemed to be positively pissed off.

Hermione opened her mouth to apologise, but Malfoy had beaten her to it.

'What the hell was wrong with you in there?' he burst out. 'We didn't even run out of air, but you just simply stopped breathing.'

'We didn't?' echoed Hermione. How was that possible? She was positive that she was choking after giving up on escaping.

'No, we didn't. I could still breathe even with your bloody arse weighing down on me,' said Malfoy, starting to head towards the enchanted barrier.

'I don't know what happened, really,' said Hermione. 'The air seemed to be sucked out all at once, and—'

She stopped, realising that normally oxygen would have been reduced gradually instead. But everything had happened just as Hermione described... as soon as she succumbed to the terrible fate. It must have been another one of Voldemort's vicious tricks: cutting the air of the victim when they gave up. She was going to tell Malfoy her theory, but then decided against it. That was not important now. She quickened her steps.

'Thank you,' she said once having finally caught up with him, though Malfoy pretended that he didn't hear it.

They stopped a few feet away from the barrier.

'How do we get it now?' asked Hermione. 'Summoning Charm is obviously out of the question.'

'I think every spell is out of the question, actually.' Malfoy demonstrated his statement by shooting a Flame-Freezing Charm at the barrier. It bounced back as a beam of blue light.

'No magic. How typical!' concluded Hermione, rolling her eyes.

'Are you going to propose we get it the Muggle way?'

'Why not?' said Hermione, conjuring a long pole and attempted to thrust it through the barrier towards the cup. However, the pole refused to go in.

'As I suspected,' said Malfoy superiorly, walking towards the enchanted field and sticking his hand into it. 'It only allows human.'

To Hermione's surprise, Malfoy's hand went through quite easily.

'Did you feel anything with your hand in there?' she asked.

'No.' He shook his head. 'The outside layer of this substance seems too weak to have any effects.'

'I'll go in there,' said Hermione resolutely.

'No, Granger, save your Gryffindor foolishness,' he scoffed. 'We don't know exactly what it is, but I can make a fair guess that it's meant to torture the intruder. Have you ever been on the receiving end of the Cruciatus Curse before?'

Hermione shook her head.

'I have,' said Malfoy. 'And you should know that the ability to withstand the pain inflicted by such a curse will increase with the number of times you have to endure it.'

'Given that one doesn't die by then,' he added with a derisive snort.

'I can't let you go in there alone. We should go together,' said Hermione firmly.

'Wow, I'm touched, Granger. Are you proposing a group suicide?' sneered Malfoy. 'If we both enter, we'll both be affected. There must be someone who stays outside, just in case. Believe me, this arguing will get us nowhere.'

Before Hermione could protest, Malfoy already stepped into the barrier, walking through the emerald clouds which fluidly swirled around him. She was sure that they had to have some effect on Malfoy, but either he didn't let it show or she couldn't tell. Hermione neared the barrier to watch his movements more closely. It was then that she saw the corner of his mouth twitching, slightly at first, but the motion grew more and more violent with each step until his whole face contorted with pain and he was practically staggering towards the pedestal.

Hermione unconsciously stepped closer to the strange atmosphere, her heart pounding. She wanted to help, but she could not find a way to alleviate the curse. She wanted to offer words of encouragement, but given the pain he was in, those would seem meaningless.

All the same, as Malfoy neared the innermost layer of the enchanted atmosphere, she found herself whispering softly, 'Please bear it just a little longer.' He reached out, wrapping his fingers around the cup handle, and ... he did it! Hermione's heart soared, but then a bloodcurdling scream resounded in the cavern. Hermione clapped her hand over her mouth as Malfoy fell down on his knees at the foot of the pedestal, his hand still clutching the cup tightly. Was there another curse placed upon it?

For one insane moment, Hermione wanted to run in to help him, but she stopped herself just in time. It wasn't sensible. Malfoy's words echoed in her head, 'If we both enter, we'll both be affected. There must be someone who stays outside, just in case.' _In case the other dies_ , now she knew that was what Malfoy had meant. Although she had heard Harry's tale of what the poison had done to Dumbledore, what was happening to Malfoy was far beyond what she had imagined. But she knew that he had been expecting it. He had known it from the moment he touched the barrier and guessed what it was.

Malfoy dragged himself another inch further but then collapsed. Hermione's heart caught up in her throat. What was she going to do? She had to get him out of there, but how? Although Malfoy didn't stir, she was quite sure that the torture still continued as the trap was designed to do: torture the intruder to death.

There was no other way. Hermione inhaled deeply, her hand trembling as it reached the barrier. As soon as the tip of her fingers touched the surface, she felt a tingle, like an electric shock. She jumped back. But there was no time to be afraid. Hermione bit her lips, forcing herself to penetrate deeper into the magical field. Her hand began shaking uncontrollably. It felt like millions of stitches were driving through her flesh, prising it from her bones. She used her other hand to grab her shoulder and steady it, trying to reach Malfoy, but he was too far in.

Tears prickled at Hermione's eyes. She didn't know if they were from the pain or from the helplessness that was engulfing her heart. She just couldn't reach him. Not if she didn't go further in. Although the pain was excruciating, it wasn't what made her hesitate. Hermione worried that if she went in any further, she might not have enough strength to pull both of them out.

'Malfoy,' she screamed, in the hope that he would move even a little towards her. There was no such luck.

'Draco,' she tried again. 'Wake up!'

He let out a small groan and rolled over onto his back. Hermione gasped at the sight of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. She had to act now. It was all or nothing. She plunged herself into the enchantment, half of her right shoulder fully swallowed up by the atmosphere. With strength she did not know she had, Hermione managed to grab Malfoy's sweaty hand and drag him out.

'Malfoy, wake up!' she called, shaking his shoulders, but to no avail. 'Look at me! Speak to me!'

She placed a finger on his wrist, feeling for a pulse. It was not too late.

 _'Rennervate!'_

He stirred, his lids fluttering, and then finally opened his eyes.

'Thank Merlin. You scared me, Malfoy,' Hermione gave a cry of relief, almost hugging Malfoy, but she stopped herself just in time. 'Now, could you please give me the cup?'

'What makes you think that I'm going to give you the cup, Granger?' he sneered.

'What?' she exclaimed, hardly believing her own ears.

'I said that I am not giving you the cup, Granger,' said Malfoy more forcefully, pushing Hermione away from him.

'Wha—what do you mean?' she stammered, still in disbelief. Why did he say that? There had to be a reason for it. A complication? A curse? Right, it must be. Hermione voiced her suspicion, 'Is there a curse on it?'

'Don't you understand, Granger? There is only one person to whom I will give this Horcrux, and that is the Dark Lord,' said Malfoy, his lips twisting into a malicious smile. 'Imagine what will happen when I return it to him, along with the information about this whole ordeal. He will welcome me back with open arms, will he not?'

Hermione went white. How could this be the person who had prevented her from sacrificing her hand, who had saved her life in the coffin, who had volunteered to enter the dangerous barrier instead of her? Was he being possessed by the fragment of soul in the cup? Hermione's heart sank as she realised that it was not possible. Throughout the extra lessons during the summer, Dumbledore had made it clear to Harry that a Horcrux could only possess the body of someone who was emotionally close to it. Even so, in the case of Ginny and the diary in second year, it had taken months. The only connection between Malfoy and the cup was physical contact, and it couldn't have been more than six or seven minutes.

Then again, there were so many inexplicable things about this sudden change of heart.

'Why?' she managed to utter.

'Why what, Granger?' sneered Malfoy, leaping to his feet. 'This has been my plan all along.'

'Then wouldn't it have been easier for you to just dispose of me from the beginning?' she asked, her mind frantically searching for a plausible explanation.

'How naive of you, Granger! I couldn't have made it this far without your precious help.'

'What about the last barrier? You could have used me as a human shield.'

'And risk the cup falling into your possession?' he snarled. 'I'd rather take my chances with the barrier.'

It was then that everything clicked in Hermione's mind. How could she have believed him? Malfoy was still who he had always been, a despicable, treacherous bastard. How could she have even thought that he was going to sacrifice himself for their cause? He was just trying to save his own skin, only with a more drastic measure.

Malfoy agilely advanced towards her, as though he hadn't been injured at all. A few minutes ago, he could barely walk. Had that been just an act as well?

'How did you—You were faking the pain?'

'Of course I was,' replied Malfoy with a triumphant note in his voice.

'But how?' cried Hermione in stunned disbelief. 'That barrier was the distilled product of the Cruciatus Curse! I experienced the effect of it myself.'

'Have you ever heard that to cast a Cruciatus Curse successfully, one must really mean harm?' he asked. 'I did feel the pain, at first. But once the enchantment realised that my aim was not to steal and destroy the cup, but to return it to its rightful owner, it didn't want to harm me anymore. The Dark Lord really has foreseen it all.'

No, it didn't make sense. If Malfoy's words were true, then he'd had plenty of chances to catch her by surprise and escape with the Horcrux. Why wait until now? Then again, who knew what was going through that twisted mind of his?

Hermione stepped back, consciously blocking the path to the coffin.

'Get out of my way,' growled Malfoy.

'No,' said Hermione sharply, staring straight into Malfoy's eyes. She was startled to see they were as cold as ice, but then her own eyes hardened. 'I won't let you carry out your plan, and neither will Dumbledore.'

'Dumbledore cannot get near the house, so as long as I can keep close to it during my escape, there will be nothing he can do,' he responded with a smirk.

Without warning, Malfoy drew his wand.

 _'Protego!'_ shouted Hermione, just seconds before his hex hit its mark. Hermione knew she had to fire back. She needed to get the cup from Malfoy at all cost.

 _'Petrificus Totalus!'_ she screamed, waving her wand at Malfoy, while at the same time running out of his firing range. The spell missed him by inches, blasting a couple of rocks from the cave wall.

 _'Expulso!'_ bellowed Malfoy in return. Hermione dodged sideways. She tried to take advantage of Voldemort's enchanted barrier by putting it in between her and Malfoy.

Malfoy sent another curse, but it ricocheted off the barrier, slamming into the ceiling and exploding. The cavern shook with the impact of the explosion. Rocks and dust were falling everywhere.

Hermione cast another shield to protect herself from the debris. She could see Malfoy advancing towards her, ducking and dodging the rocks as he went. He was limping by the end of it even though she could not perceive any rock hitting him. Hermione shook her head and sprang back into action. It was all happening too fast.

 _'Crucio!'_

Being caught off guard, Hermione fell as millions of stitches thrust through her flesh, burning her insides. She thought she would die of the agony. But then, for a fraction of a second, the pain seemed to lessen, and she leapt at the chance to Disarm Malfoy, her hand still trembling. Her spell must have done its job, for she was released from the torture instantly. Hermione scrambled to her feet, only to find Malfoy still in possession of his wand, though no longer holding the cup. She knew she had not Disarmed him.

 _To cast a Cruciatus Curse successfully, one must really mean harm_. Hermione thought she caught a hint of a smile, but Malfoy's expression turned cold again, his wand raised. Could it be—

Then there was a scream that nearly stopped Hermione's heart.

***

Draco awoke with a start. It seemed as though the excruciating pain had been swept away, for all he felt was utter numbness. Draco was surprised that he somehow found the strength to open his eyes. Granger's face was hovering above him, her eyes wet and full of concern.

'Thank Merlin. You scared me, Malfoy,' she exclaimed, making a motion as if about to hug him, but refraining at the last moment. 'Now, could you please give me the cup?'

Draco's lips twitched. 'What makes you think that I'm going to give you the cup, Granger?' he heard himself sneering.

'What?' Granger and a tiny voice in the back of his mind cried out in unison.

 _You are_ not _going to give her the cup_ , another voice echoed, cold and clear, and Draco shuddered as his own mouth relayed that same message to Granger. He knew this sensation all too well.

He wrenched Granger away with a strength he did not feel. The voice of reason in Draco's head told him that the exertion would hurt mightily afterwards, though for now there was no pain as he found himself gradually pulled into blissful oblivion.

'Wha—what do you mean? Is there a curse on it?' Granger's voice was fading, but he struggled to cling onto it like an anchor.

And then he heard it, his very own voice bragging to her about 'his brilliant plan'—a plan that Draco himself had never contemplated: bringing the cup back to the Dark Lord, giving him the information on the Horcrux hunt, and re-joining the ranks of Death Eaters. Even as his reason began to fade, Draco could clearly see the flaws in that plan. Yet, those thoughts, too, seemed to be slipping away from his grasp.

He was vaguely aware of an invisible hand pulling him to his feet. Through the hazy lens in his mind, he could see Granger appear completely petrified. What had he just said to cause such a reaction? Another surge of determination washed over him, and reality came closer into focus.

'Wouldn't it have been easier for you to just dispose of me from the beginning?' Granger's question echoed into Draco's consciousness.

 _What are you going on about? I couldn't have made it this—_ Draco never finished his thought, recognising the twisted version of it forming on the tip of his tongue. As Granger tried to reason out his motive, Draco helplessly observed his own mind being used against him again and again. He bitterly realised that staying alert would never be enough to fight off this advanced form of the Imperius.

The shock and disbelief on Granger's face faltered, finally being replaced by cold indignation.

 _Get on with it_ , commanded the voice in his head. _Bring the cup back to the Dark Lord._

Draco found his hand tightening around the handle of the cup as he said through gritted teeth, 'Get out of my way.'

'No,' yelled Granger. Their eyes locked. For the briefest moment, Draco thought she had seen something in his, but then the recognition had gone and all that was left was pure contempt. 'I won't let you carry out your plan, and neither will Dumbledore.'

 _The barrier around the house can effectively hinder Dumbledore_ , the logical side of his brain countered instantly. Draco wished that it would just shut down completely, for the next thing that escaped his mouth was that very argument. _Think, Granger, think_ , willed Draco. _What about my mother? I cannot leave her with you lot to run away alone._ He tried to scream, but instead a sadistic smirk snaked its way over his lips.

 _Attack her. You will stop at nothing_ , the voice hissed in Draco's ear, and so he attacked. He fired curse after curse at Granger, though she managed to either deflect or avoid them.

When one of his curses blew up the ceiling of the cave, Draco's body was ordered to take the chance to approach Granger. He complied, but this time he could feel his left hand twitch, unwilling to be raised again. However, as his resistance increased, so did the pain. His legs felt like they were being torn from under him, white-hot knives piercing his sides. Draco felt himself falling back into the void of unconsciousness once more. It was easy and welcoming.

 _Try harder_ , demanded the cold voice, and Draco's hand couldn't help but shoot up, pointing at Granger again. He gasped in horror at the cruel scream that should not have been his own, _'Crucio!'_

 _No_ , screamed the dimly conscious part of Draco's brain as Granger fell to her knees, her face contorted with pain.

 _I don't want to hurt her_ , cried the reasonable voice again. An idea flickered through his mind and brought on another intense stream of agony, but for once Draco struggled to stay alert and willed his hand to drop the Horcrux.

Granger cast a Disarming Spell that missed completely, though Draco knew that it didn't matter once the sound of metal hitting the hard ground reached his ears. His lips lifted up in a smile—by his will this time—but it was a second too soon.

 _Kill her_ , the malicious voice in his head boomed out, more forcefully.

 _NO_ , the other voice shouted, and Draco felt as though he was stabbed when the same word burst out from his mouth. Draco's legs gave out beneath him.

'I'm sorry,' he managed to gush as Granger rushed towards him.

She kneeled down by his side. The cup lay forgotten. Draco saw darkness closing in from the edge of his vision, but for once he wasn't afraid to close his eyes. _She will get us out of here safely_ , was the last thought that crossed his mind.

***

Draco woke up with a funny tickling sensation in his left hand. He slowly opened his eyes and looked around to find the clean and quiet sight of the Hogwarts hospital wing. The room was deserted except for Granger, her bushy head resting next to Draco's hand. She clearly had fallen asleep while waiting beside his bed. _So she_ did _get us out safely_ , he mused, feeling a warm sense of relief washing over him. Draco had slipped in and out of consciousness during their journey back, and there had been moments when he had thought that she was going to abandon him. Now, everything had turned out well, it seemed.

Draco attempted to extract his hand from under Granger's hair without disturbing her, but the effort was still a little too much for him. Draco couldn't help but let out a moan when the pain shot up his shoulder. The noise effectively startled Granger awake.

'You're awake,' she exclaimed, in a somewhat sleepy voice.

'Been worrying, have you, Granger?' He couldn't refrain from teasing.

'Who said that I was worried?' replied Granger loftily. 'I only wanted to make sure that you'd wake up in time for our detention.'

If it hadn't been for the mighty ache in his back, Draco would have shot up from his bed. He couldn't have dreamt up their little Horcrux adventure, could he?

Granger grinned mischievously. 'We got into an argument and started duelling while Dumbledore was away, remember?'

Draco relaxed visibly. So that was their cover-up for his injury after the so-called detention? It seemed plausible enough and, come to think of it, even had some elements of truth. Hogwarts' gossipers would surely have another field day, though Draco honestly couldn't care less.

'And how exactly did I end up in the hospital wing, then?' he asked, despite already knowing what their made-up excuse would be.

'Let's say I got a bit carried away while hexing you,' replied Granger, blushing slightly.

'So why do I have to serve detention?' he asked, smirking. 'Aren't I the victim of the big bad Head Girl here?'

'Because you were the one who started the fight,' said Granger seriously, though there was no sign of contempt in her eyes. Draco breathed out in relief. Only then was he completely convinced that Granger had understood that it was Voldemort's curse that had forced him to attack.

'Anyway, I have to go and fill in for both our Head duties,' she continued. 'Get well soon for our next detention, will you?'

And with that, she scurried off, leaving Draco alone in the infirmary.

Hmm, another 'detention' with Granger. Why did he get a feeling that maybe—just _maybe_ —it wouldn't be that bad after all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it, guys. I've managed to finish posting this before the new year. YAY! Here's to hoping that I'll manage to keep my new year resolution of writing at least half of the sequel as well.
> 
> We'll see. Stay tuned for _The Alchemist's Gift_!
> 
> See you soon,  
> Leo


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